



Class _H ^-"7 

Book i /\ 2 ^ 2 ^ 

COKTRIGHT DEPOSIT. 


* 




THE GREAT WESTERN SERIES 


I. 

GOING WEST; or, The Perils of a Poor Bot. 

II . 

OUT WEST ; or, PonoHiKO tt on thp. Grrat Takes. 

ni. 

LAKE BREEZES ; or, The Cruise of the Stlvania. 

IV. 

GOING SOUTH; or. Yachting on the Atlantic Coast. 

V. 

DOWN SOUTH; or. Yacht Adventures in Florida. 

VI. 

UP THE RIVER; or. Yachting on the Mississippi. 





THE GREAT WESTERN SERIES 


GOING WEST ; 

OR, 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


BY 


.OLIVER . OPTIC, 

C ■* 3 a 

AUTHOR OF ** YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD,” “THE ARMY AND NAVY SERIES 
“ THE WOODVILLE STORIES,” “ THE STARRY FLAG SERIES,” “ THE 
BOAT CLUB STORIES,” “ THE LAKE SHORE SERIES,” “THE 
UF WARD AND ONWARD SERIES,” THE YACHT CLUB 
SEIUES,” ETC., ETC., ETC., ETC. 


mril THIRTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS. 



BOSTON ; 


LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS, 


The library of 

CONGRESS. 

Two Copie» Received 

JUl 31 1903 

Cepyrifht Entry 

c 3 

CLASS XXa No. 

fc. a ? / 

COPY A. 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, 
Bt william T. ADAMS, 

In the OflBee of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 

CoPTEiaHT, 1903, BT Aliob Adams Rusbell. 


Qoino West. 


THE BOYS OF THE GREAT WEST, 
















;f. I 








I ■«'» I '>1 ^ 




r^. 






• II 






i* 

tV - ?ri 


y»fc- 










V 




vJfci 


‘<: • *^£1^ 




•L^*" ^ 




i 


fr 

^ -••'X* '-14 


.4*i£1 




'^C-: 


1 r- 


>:*y 


/ I 




.iV2 




jC 




• 1. 




t^VbC 




r'>».r 


.^■.<r" » 




ir.* 




W=7«if-^' 

. ^Y7.‘ 


.♦< 




i'x‘1 


k 




• I > 






V 


rrj^ 


•?iC'/r.T •' 4rs^-- ^ 

^ ' 't^' ' ■ :.inl 


1/' j. - ' 


-• 


A J^n 


m 




liy^i 


UIMm 

j.i?y-'-/r*» 'i- 










'*'■> ' • H?S 




>'» »i 




•t ■•: 




v.^ 




5^. 


w 






I - li '-■ 

. “ -O 








» • 


its* 


•;lV 


i 






zy 


VB] 


^ ^ y'. X-^ - 

ii' ■•)»?; 


'if' 






j^S' 


’: \ 


% 




fe V* 






:< >* 


.11% 


.' Ekv'-'Uy 

- 

':i .^’^-'4 

;# 

'^--- • t>' 




k> - V 


i/. 


!-■ y. 


I r 






it 




-VJ 


^ - i % 'j 




is:-4 




.V»W*o " 


Uf 






» z 




r^n 


isn 


7*^. 




yr 


J 


a 


'i 






•fi* 




l!4i^a' 


tK- 




ifs' 










m 






.♦Vl 




^1 












ie?#’ 




f 


■^e 


f\H 


‘-'.y 


l,M (, 






tf-. 







PREFACE. 


Going West is the first yolume of The Great Western 
Series. Though the story contained in this book is complete 
in itself, and may be read without regard to the other volumes 
of the series, yet those who may desire to follow the hero in 
his life career beyond the limits of this narrative, wiU have 
the opportunity to do so. He is a young sailor in this book, 
and if hard fare and hard usage can make a poor boy, he 
is certainly entitled to the designation. At first he is not 
a boy of much spirit, but he soon develops this attribute, 
under the severe discipline to which he is subjected. The 
story takes him to the Great West, where he finds a home 
in the last chapter. If there is a mystery about his birth 
and parentage, very little use is made of the fact in this volume. 
He has considerable spirit, after he “ comes to himself ; ” but 
he is not a bad boy, and has a good heart and high aims. 
He is above vice and crime, and has an inborn desire to 
be good and to do his duty. 

The new home of the hero is on one of the great lakes, 
where the remaining stories of the series will be located. 
During the past year the author has made several journeys to 
the Great West, and voyaged upon the waters of the Great 
Lakes in order to prepare himself for the work he has under- 

5 


6 


PREFACE. 


taken in this series. He hopes in this new field to meet 
the reasonable anticipations of his young friends, whom it 
has been the labor of his life to please, to instruct and to 
elevate ; and with the fifty-third book he has written for 
them, he presents his hearty thanks for the favor with which 
his past efforts have been received, and his best wishes for 
their future prosperity and happiness. 

Dorchester, Mass., 

November 1, 1875. 


CONTENTS, 


PAGE. 

CHAPTER I. 

Mrs. Boomsby and I, . . . . 11 

CHAPTER II. 

In a Bad Scrape, ..... 22 

CHAPTER III. 

A Strike for Fair Play, . . . . 34 

CHAPTER IV. 

Something about the Poor Boy, . . .46 

CHAPTER V. 

A Remarkably Good Dinner, . . . . 58 

CHAPTER VI. 

Whose I’ingers were Burned, ... 68 


7 


8 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER VII. 

My Wardrobe and Other Matters, . . 80 

CHAPTER VIII. 

On Board the Great West.- . . . . 92 

CHAPTER IX. 

The Mate’s Advice, ..... 103 

CHAPTER X. 

A Night in the Hoid, .... 113 

CHAPTER XI. 

Short-Handed, ... . . . .124 

CHAPTER XII. 

The Mate Expresses Himself, . . . 134 

CHAPTER XIII. 

A Heavy Blow, ... . . 145 

CHAPTER XIV. 

The End of the Voyage, .... 156 

CHAPTER XV. 

The Hudson River Steamer, . . . .166 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Mr. Buckminster and Others, . . . 177 


CONTENTS. 


9 


CHAPTER XVII. 

The Shops of Newburgh, .... 188 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

The Bath and the Barber, . . . 199 

CHAPTER XIX. 

An Unexpected Visitor, .... 216 

CHAPTER XX. 

The Tyrant on the Offensive, . . . 221 

CHAPTER XXI. 

A Useless Discussion, 232 

CHAPTER XXII. 

The Young Boatmam, ..... 244 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

A Grand Expedition, 255 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

An Anxious Father, 266 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Up the Hudson, 218 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

In the Night and Storm, .... 290 


10 


(;ONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


Captain Boomsby’s Speculation, . , 301 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

The Sick Man, 313 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

Going West, 324 

CHAPTER XXX. 

The Last Peril ev Going West, . . . 335 


GOING WEST; 


OR, 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


CHAPTER I. 


MRS. BOOMSBY AND I. 



OU stole that quarter of a dollar, San- 


dy ! ” said Mrs. Nancy Boomsby, wife 


of Captain Parker Boomsby, master and quarter 
owner of the coasting schooner Great West. 

She said it to me, and I am the Poor Boy 
alluded to in the title of this story. Heaven 
knows that I was poor enough, not only in 
regard to the perishable riches of this world, 
but also in friends, hopes, happiness ; in all the 
blessings which make life pleasant and worth 
having. An hour before she charged me with 
the theft, she had left the quarter of a dollar 


11 


12 


GOING WEST, OR 


on the kitchen table, intending to use it in 
purchasing a loaf of white bread and some crack- 
ers of the baker, for whom the signal had been 
made by hanging a towel out of one of the 
front windows. I wish to remove any possible 
imputation from my character in the beginning, 
by saying that I did not steal the money ; and 
perhaps the reader will believe me, if Mrs. 
Boomsby did not. 

This is how it was : I had not been in the 
house for three hours. It was ten o’clock in 
the forenoon, and I had been at work in the 
garden since breakfast time ; my breakfast time, 
for it was half an hour later than that of the 
other members of the family — if I may be so 
presumptuous as to consider myself one of them ; 
and my meals consisted of what was left when 
they had done, though often there was very 
little left, and hunger was by no means a strange 
sensation to me. The bill of fare that morning 
was minced, salt fish and potatoes, brown bread, 
and coffee ; but the coffee was all gone before I 
went to the table, and I had none. I did not 
take kindly to cold water in the morning ; but 
at ten, when I had worked in a warm April sun 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 13 

for three hours, I was very thirsty. If I ven- 
tured to complain that my diet was very poor 
and insufficient any time, Mrs. Boomsby boxed 
my ears, and the captain, when at home, flogged 
me with a rope’s end. 

On this particular occasion I had suffered 
from thirst for two hours, before I ventured to 
leave my work long enough to go into the 
house for a drink, for I knew that doing so 
would be punished with hard words, certainly, 
and, if Mrs. Boomsby felt like it, with blows. 
The water was drawn from the well with a 
bucket attached to a rope, which passed over a 
wheel, in the back room. I could not get to it 
without going through the kitchen, for the door 
of the wood-shed was fastened. As I crossed 
the door-yard, I saw a quarter of a dollar lying 
on the ground. The sight of it gave me a thrill, 
as I thought what gingerbread and crackers it 
would buy at the store, to supplement my scanty 
diet. I picked it up and put it into my pocket. 
I wondered who had dropped it. I had seen no 
one in the yard that day but Nick Boomsby, 
the captain’s oldest child, a boy of about my 
own age. He could not have lost the money, 


14 


GOING WEST, OR 


for quarters were hardly less scarce in his pocket 
than in mine. 

I was very thirsty then, and wanted water 
even more than gingerbread or crackers. I don’t 
remember that I ever had any money but once 
before, and that was when I had sold a mess 
of cunners I had caught for ten cents. I had 
expended this princely sum in the purchase 
of six cents’ worth of gingerbread, three cents’ 
worth of crackers, and one cents’ worth of candy, 
all of which was consumed in the secrecy of the 
haymow in the barn. One of the lawyers gave 
me five cents one day for holding his horse ; but 
Nick who was with me, told his mother of it, 
and she took the money away from me before I 
had a chance to spend it. The quarter of a 
dollar in my pocket was therefore, a bigger 
thing to me than the discovery of America was 
to Mr. Columbus ; but, then, early possessions 
pass away, and hope does not always end in 
fruition. 

The instant I entered the kitchen, Mrs. 
Boomsby rushed towards me ; I am not quite 
sure that she was not rushing after me before I 
went in. In her harshest treble, she demanded 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


15 


if I had seen the quarter of a dollar she had 
placed on the table. Though I had no means 
of knowing, or even any reason for supposing, 
that the quarter I had found was the one she 
had lost, I had forethought enough to consider 
the consequences of a denial. I was the scape- 
goat for the sins of all the members of the 
family, and especially of Nick, who had in- 
herited neither a sense of honor nor of justice 
from his father or mother. I knew that my 
tyrant would search me. I had been so often 
subdued, beaten, and cowed, that I had no 
thought either of resistance or flight. She would 
certainly “ flsh my pockets,’’ and as certainly 
find the quarter. I made a merit of what 
seemed to me to be a necessity, and taking the 
quarter from my pocket, I put it into Mrs. 
Boomsby’s red right hand. Then she made the 
savage remark with which I have commenced 
my eventful history. 

“ No, marm, I didn’t steal it,” I replied, 
meekly enough to have arrested her vengeance, 
if she had been like other women. 

Don’t tell me, Sandy ! ” she blazed away, 
before I had time to say any more. “ You are 
a thief ^ and I always kuowed you was ! ” 


16 


GOING WEST, OR 


The only foundation in her knowledge for this 
remark, was the fact that she had once caught 
me with a large slice of brown bread and butter, 
which I had taken from the buttery one fore- 
noon, after my breakfast had been unusually 
short. 

“ No, marm, I’m not a thief. I didn’t steal 
the quarter ; I found it in the door-yard,” I 
ventured to add. 

“ Don’t tell me ! ” 

I knew very well that it was no use to tell 
her ; but after having my hopes dashed down 
by the loss of the quarter, and after doing the 
fair and honest thing without attempting any 
concealment, I could not help defending myself 
in a very mild way. 

“ I can tell you just where I found the quar- 
ter, marm,” I pleaded. 

“ So can I tell just where you found it : you 
found it on that kitchen table, and you stole it ! 
That’s the whole on’t! ” stormed Mrs. Boomsby. 

“No, marm, I didn’t find it there ; I found 
it in the door-yard.” 

“ Don’t contradict me again : if you do, I’ll 
take a stick to you this minute ! ” said she. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


17 


looking around the room as if for the implemem: 
of torture. 

Though I was twelve years old, and rather a 
stout boy at that, I knew she was able to do 
it, and would do it ; so I did not contradict 
her : it was not safe to do so. 

“ I have not been in the house before since I 
ate my breakfast,” I protested, but very gently. 

“ Don’t tell me no more lies, Sandy ! Didn’t 
I leave that quarter on that table ? Can you 
tell me how it come out in the door-yard ? ” she 
demanded triumphantly, as though no possible 
answer could be made to this convincing argu- 
ment. 

“ I can’t tell, raarm ; but I haven’t left my 
work this forenoon before,” 

“Yes you did ! You come into the house 
while I was up stairs making the beds, and 
took that money. Its just like you ; and you’re 
go’n to suffer for’t, I can tell you ! I thought 
I heard somebody in the kitchen.” 

“ I wasn’t in the kitchen before, inarm.” 

“ Yes, you was! you must have come in. How 
did that money get out of the house, if you 
didn’t? Can you tell me that?” 

2 


18 


GOING WEST, OR 


“ I saw Nicholas come out of the house a 
little while ago,” I replied. 

I suppose I said this because I could not 
think of anything else to say ; but the remark 
was a very stupid blunder on my part. 

“ Do you mean to say that Nicholas took it ? ” 
demanded Mrs. Boomsby, her eyes snapping with 
anger. 

“ No, inarm ! O, no ! ” 

“Yes, you do, too! You mean to lay it to 
him, to cover up your own iniquity. I know 
you 1 You saw Nicholas coming out of the 
house — did you? He stole it and dropped it 
in the yard — did he?” 

“ No inarm ; I don’t mean that.” 

“Yes, you did, you villain! What on airth 
could you mean but that? Let me tell you, 
Nicholas wouldn’t do such a thing ! He’s my 
son, and he wouldn’t steal! You did it your- 
self, and you want to lay it to him.” 

“ No, inarm,” I protested. 

“ What did you leave your work at all for ? 
What business had you in the house ? ” 

“ I came in after a drink of water, inarm ” 

“ That’s only an excuse to leave your work 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


19 


and get into the house. You are a lazy, good- 
for-nothing fellow. But Captain Boomsby’s 
coming home to-day, and he’ll fix this case him- 
self.” 

This meant the rope’s end ; and I rather pre- 
ferred that the wife should settle it herself, 
though I think she was quite as savage and 
remorseless as he was. 

“ Don’t, inarm, don’t ! ” I begged. 

“Yes, I shall ; and Captain Boomsby shall 
give you such a basting as you never had 
before. Now go to your work ; and if I catch 
you in the house again. I’ll give you a basting 
myself,” said Mrs. Boomsby, as she placed the 
quarter of a dollar on the kitchen table again. 
“ There ! ” she added, turning to me ; “ I’m 
going to let that money be just where I put it 
before. If you want to steal it again you do so ; 
that’s all ! Now go ’long to your work.” 

There was no quarter for me in any sense of 
the word, and I left the house, as thirsty as I 
entered it, but with the assurance of a severe 
flogging when the captain returned. The Great 
West had been reported at anchor outside the 
Gap, or entrance of the harbor, waiting for the 


20 


GOING WEST, OR 


tide to turn, so that she could get in. The 
white bread was for her commander, for none 
was ever bought or made when he was absent. 
I went to my work, but I was so thirsty I could 
not do anything. There was a brook which ran 
into Long Pond a little way from the house ; 
and when I could stand it no longer, I jumped 
over the fence, intent upon obtaining a drink. 
Reaching the stream, I lay down upon the 
ground, and putting my face into the water, I 
drank long and deep. 

When I had allayed my thirst, I hastened 
back to the garden, for I was afraid my tyrant 
in the house would miss me, as I suspected that 
she was watching me from the chamber windows. 
After the ill success of my attempt to be honest, 
in giving up the quarter, I wondered why I had 
not been smart enough to hide the quarter in 
the barn till the tempest had blown over. Then 
it would not have been found upon me ; and 
tliough I might not have escaped the flogging, I 
should have saved the quarter, which would 
have consoled me for the castigation. This was 
worldly policy ; but I had been taught nothing 
better. I have since learned not only that 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


21 


“ honesty is the best policy,” but that it is our 
duty to be honest, whether it is the best policy 
or not. 

When I reached the fence and was about to 
jump over it, I saw Nick come into the yard. 
He was looking on the ground very intently, 
casting his eyes all about the path which led 
from the road to the back door. Walking very 
slowly, he carefully examined the space till he 
came to the house, and then went in. It was 
plain enough to me that Nick, though he was 
Mrs. Boomsby’s son, had taken that quarter, 
and dropped it on his way out of the yard. 
He would find it on the table when he went 
into the kitchen, where it had been before. I 
concluded that he would be very much astonished 
to find it there, but I did not think he would 
have the courage to steal it again. 

I resumed my work, spading up the ground 
for the early peas. It was very heavy work for 
a boy of twelve ; but I hardly dared to stop and 
rest me at any time, lest the fiery tongue of 
Mrs. Boomsby should dart its stings at me. I 
had liardly lifted the spade before Nick came 
out of the house and walked down to the road. 


22 


GOING WEST, OK 


CHAPTER II. 

IN A BAD SCRAPE. 

I SAW Nick walking hastily down the east 
road towards Glossenbury Port, where he 
was to meet his father when the Great West 
came up the bay. 1 was afraid he had stolen 
the quarter again, for I had not so much con- 
fidence in his honesty as his mother had. If 
he had taken the money, the consequences would 
belong to me, all the same as though I had 
stolen it myself. I was irresolute and undecided. 
It seemed to me I ought to do something, even 
while all the Perils of a Poor Boy environed 
me, whatever I did. Finally I determined to 
look into the kitchen and see whether the quar- 
ter was still on the table or not. It was a peril 
to do so, but it seemed to be a greater peril not 
to do it. If I found that Nick had stolen the 
money, I could chase him, and recover it. I 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


23 


was even desperate enough to knock him down 
and take the quarter from him, for I was not 
afraid of Nick, as I was of his father and 
mother. 

I ran into the house as quick as my legs 
would carry me. The quarter was not on the 
table. Nick had taken it without a doubt. I 
had heard the bells on the baker’s horse as I 
crossed the yard. Mrs. Boomsby had also 
heard him, and before I could retreat she bounced 
into the room. When she saw me, she glanced 
at the table, and discovered that the quarter 
was missing again. I had decided upon a course 
of action, and was leaving the room to put it 
into execution ; but the tigress intercepted my 
retreat. 

“ So you villain ! you have taken that money 
again ! ” exclaimed she, seizing me by my shirt 
collar. 

“ No, inarm ; I did not ; Nicholas took it,” I 
replied. 

“ How dare you lay it to him ? You are a 
wicked wretch ! ” she added, shaking me sav- 
agely, and then hurling me from her as though 
I had been an infant. 


24 


GOING WEST, OB 


In accomplishing this act of discipline, she left 
me between herself and the door. This would 
have been bad strategy on her part, if I had 
ever been guilty of resistance or disobedience to 
her authority ; but I never had been, and she 
had no reason to consider me capable of such a 
movement. I had a plan, and though I aston- 
ished myself as much as I did her, I proceeded 
to carry it out. In a word I darted out at the 
door. 

“ Stop ! ” shouted she. 

I did not stop, and she followed me. 

“ Stop Sandy ! Come back this minute ! Don’t 
you mean to mind ? ” 

“ Nick’s got that quarter, and I’m going after 
it,” I answered, increasing my speed. 

“ Come back, you rascal ! You shall smart for 
this ! ” 

I heard her yelling after me, but I did not 
make out what she said. I passed the baker 
just as he was stopping at the gate. It was 
half a mile to the Port, and, as the road was 
straight, I could see Nick some distance ahead. 
He was not running ; only walking fast. I got 
into the road just behind the stage from Glynn- 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


25 


port, and I ran fast enough to overtake it in a 
moment. It was down hill, and the stage was 
going at a rapid rate. I got hold of the bag- 
gage-rack behind, and leaped upon it. In five 
minutes I had passed Nick, and jumped off. 

“ Where you going, Sandy ? ” demanded he, 
as I confronted him in the road, some distance 
from any house. 

“ Nowhere ; I’m after you,” I replied, still 
breathing hard from the effects of the quick run 
I had made. 

“ What do you want of me? ” 

“ I want that quarter,” I answered, very de- 
cidedly. 

“ What quarter ? ” he asked ; but he looked 
quite sheepish. 

“ The quarter you took off the kitchen table.” 

“ I didn’t take any quarter off the kitchen 
table, and didn’t know there was any there.” 

“ Yes, you did ! ” 

“ Who knows best, you or I ? ” 

“I do ; and if you don’t give it up. I’ll knock 
you over and take it away from you.” 

“ Knock me over ! ” repeated he, shaking his 
head, while a sickly smile played upon his face. 


26 


GOING WEST, OR 


“ That’s what I said. Hand over : ” and I 
extended my hand to receive the money. 

“What are you talking about, Sandy? I 
haven’t seen any quarter,” persisted Nick. 

“Yes you have! You took it, and your 
mother lays it to me. Now if you don’t hand 
it over to me. I’ll knock you over, and get it 
the best way I can, if I break your head in 
doing it.” 

“ Two can play at that game,” replied Nick, 
putting his hands into his pockets, as though 
he had some doubt about the safety of the 
money. 

“ I know it ; but I’m going to do most of the 
playing myself. You stole that quarter twice 
this morning. Haven’t you got a hole in your 
pocket ? ” 

“ Who told you I had ? ” 

“You lost the quarter the first time you took 
it, and I found it. I saw you looking for it in 
the yard when you came back. It’s no use of 
talking, Nick : I’m going to have that quarter, 
if I have to fight for it.” 

“ I tell you I haven’t got any quarter,” pro- 
tested Nick. “ How many more times must I 
tell you ? ” 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 27 

“ I know you have ; and I could prove it 
too.” 

“ Let’s see you prove it.” 

“ I saw you looking for it in the yard ; and it 
was gone after you came out of the house the 
second time. That’s enough ; and I won’t have 
any more jaw about it.” 

“ I won’t either ; and I am going down to 
the Port,” replied Nick, attempting to pass me 
in the road. 

I let him do so ; but I instantly caught him by 
the back of his coat collar, and tripped him over 
on the grass by the roadway. 

“ Let me alone ! ” yelled he. 

I meant business, and I didn’t let him alone. 
I put my knee on his chest in spite of his 
struggles, and covered one arm. I held the 
other arm with my left hand, while I went 
through his pockets with the right. He roared, 
screamed, kicked, and bit me ; but I held him 
as tight as though he had been in a vise. I 
thrust my hand down into the depths of the 
right pocket of his trousers. I turned it out. 
There was a hole in the bottom of it. Then I 
tried the left pocket, and brought up his knife, 


28 


GOING WEST, OR 


a pencil, a piece of chalk, a button — and the 
quarter. The last was what I wanted, and 
when I got hold of it I released my prisoner. He 
sprang to his feet, the maddest boy of twelve, I 
ever saw in my life. Without an instant’s pause 
he pitched into me. 

I put the plunder I had taken from him into 
my pocket, and defended myself. He hit with 
his fists and kicked with his feet. I got some 
hard cracks in my shins before I could over- 
power him. Finally I had to knock him over ; 
and I held him on the grass till some of his 
wrath had evaporated ; but the whole thing was 
over in a minute. 

“ You’ll catch it for this, Sandy,” howled Nick, 
crying with anger. 

“ I suppose I shall,” I replied ; “ but there’s 
the quarter.” 

I held it up before him. 

“You stole it; I didn’t,” whined he. 

“ But I found it in your pocket ; and that 
isn’t just where 1 should have put it if I had 
stolen it.” 

“ You didn’t find it in my pocket ! It’s a trick 
to lay it off on me.” 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


29 


I confess that I was appalled at this reply. 
Whatever I did, I was sure to “ put my foot in 
it.” Mrs. Boomsby would believe her son. By 
resorting to violence, I had certainly made my 
case worse. Nick was Mrs. Boomsby’s son. 
Her son would not steal. I had tipped him 
over, and fished liis pockets, and I realized that 
I must suffer for what I had done. Without 
saying anything more to Nick, I turned on my 
heel, and walked up the road towards the house. 
The baker’s wagon was still at the gate when I 
arrived. Mrs. Boomsby was telling him all about 
the quarter, and what a bad boy Sandy was. 

“ So you’ve come back ! ” said she, bitterly ; 
“ you thief, you ! ” 

“ There’s the quarter marm,” I replied, hand- 
ing her the money. “ I didn’t steal it, either.” 

“ Didn’t you indeed ? Where did you get it, 
then ? ” sneered Mrs. Boomsby. 

“ Nicholas took it off the table, and I got it 
from him.” 

“You got it from him! Did he give it to 
you ? ” 

“No, marmj I took it from him.” 

“ I don’t believe a word on’t.” 


30 


GOING WEST, OR 


I didn’t suppose she would ; but it was the 
truth. 

“ I found the quarter in one of his trousers’ 
pockets ; and the other one had a hole in it, 
where he lost it out the first time he took it,” 
I added. 

“ He didn’t take it the first time, nor the 
second nuther. Don’t tell me ! ” replied Mrs. 
Boomsby, waxing wrathy. “ Did you ever hear 
the like on’t, Mr. Stone ? He says my boy took 
that quarter. ’Tain’t like Nicholas. He never 
did no such thing.” 

Mr. Stone was the baker. Mrs. Boomsby 
bought bread and crackers of him once in a 
while : I never did. He was non-committal, but 
he thought the case needed looking into. He 
was afraid I was a bad boy. He did not seem 
to fear that Nick might be a bad boy ; his 
mother bought crackers. 

“ Isn’t that your husband in that wagon, com- 
ing up the road ? ” said the baker, who had 
been trying for some time to get away from his 
talkative customer. 

“ True as the world, ’tis ! ” replied Mrs. 
Boomsby. “ And Nicholas is coming with him. 
Now we shall know the truth on’t.” 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


31 


I hficl my doubts about this. I knew Captain 
Boomsby well enough to understand that I had 
nothing to hope for in his treatment of the case. 
Nick was his only son, though he had three 
daughters, and both the father and mother 
appeared to regard him as incapable of wrong. 
He was indulged far more than the girls, though 
the latter were younger, and I suppose they had 
high hopes of iiim. I tried to think what to do 
in this extreme peril ; but it did not seem to 
make much difference what I did ; I was pretty 
certain to do the wrong thing. I was morally 
sure of the severest flogging I had ever had in 
my life, whatever course I 'might take. I stood 
leaning against the gate-post when the wagon in 
which the captain and Nick were passengers 
stopped in the road opposite the house. 

“Well, Nancy, how are you?” demanded 
Captain Boomsby, very much as he would have 
hailed another craft at sea. 

“Nicely; how are you, Parker?” she replied. 

“ First rate ; never better.” 

“ I heard you were off shore this morning ; 
but I didn’t expect you so soon,” added Mrs. 
Boomsby. 


32 


GOING WEST, OR 


“ Well, I got a smart breeze of wind from the 
eastward, and I ran in against the tide,” replied 
the master of the Great West, fixing a withering 
look upon me. Now what’s this business with 
Sandy ? ” 

The Captain and Nick had got out of the 
wagon while these greetings were exchanged, 
and the neighbor who had given them seats in 
his vehicle drove on. When the hopeful son of 
my tyrants got out, he limped, and partially 
doubled himself up, keeping both hands on his 
chest, as though he was suffering pain, and 
found it very difficult to move. I understood all 
this : Nick pretended that I had severely in- 
jured him, in order to deepen the indignation 
of the parents against me. Mrs. Boomsby pro- 
ceeded to tell her husband what “ this business 
with Sandy ” was. She told her own story, and 
of course she charged me with stealing the 
quarter both times. 

“ Now, the rascal says he took the quarter 
from Nicholas,” said she, when she came to the 
end of the story. 

“ He didn’t take it from me, because I didn’t 
have it,” Nick interposed. “ He knocked me 



Hold on. Captain Boomsby!” Page 33. 





THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


36 


down in the road, stamped on me, and then 
pretended to take the quarter out of my pocket. 
I never had the quarter; so he couldn’t have 
taken it out of my pocket.” 

“ I knowed he didn’t git it from Nicholas,” 
added his mother, triumphantly. 

“ Did you knock Nicholas down, Sandy ? ” 
demanded the captain savagely. 

“ I did, sir,” I answered ; “ and I took the 
quarter from the left pocket of his trousers.” 

“You knocked him down, and stamped on 
him — did you ? ” 

“ No, sir ; I didn’t stamp on him. I only held 
him down while I felt in his pockets. Here’s 
the rest of the things I took from his pocket.” 

I gave them to Mrs. Boomsby. 

“ That’s enough ! I don’t want to hear no 
more. You knocked my son down, and stamped 
on him ! ” 

“ I’ll tell you how it was. Captain Boomsby,” 
I added meekly. 

“I don’t want to hear no more — not another 
word ! Bring me that rope’s end ! ” thundered 
the captain. 

I went to the barn for the rope. 

3 


GOING WEST, OR 


34 « 


CHAPTER III. 

A STRIKE FOR FAIR PLAY. 

HAD been flogged a dozen times with that 



1 rope’s end ; and I assure the reader, who 
never had such an experience, that the opera- 
tion is not a pleasant one. The rope was a 
piece of whale-line, about two feet long. It was 
not so called because it was used in whaling me, 
but because it is the kind of line attached to a 
harpoon, when the monster of the deep is struck. 
I found the instrument of torture on the barn 
floor, where it had last been applied to my 
quivering back and legs. I picked it up and 
looked at it. It was about half an inch in 
diameter, hard and tough. 

I was in no hurry to go to the house again, 
where I had seen my tyrants enter. I was not 
impatient for the operation to begin. In fact, I 
was in a very unusual frame of mind. I actu- 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


35 


ally had some doubts about taking my flogging. 
The world was open to me, and I could run 
away. I could take to the woods not far from 
the barn, and elude all pursuers for a time. It 
is said that certain wild animals, after they 
have tasted blood, become furious, and thirst 
for more. It is not unlikely that the success 
which had attended my assault upon Nick, encour- 
aged me to think of such a thing as resistance. 
Nick had always bullied me ; if he wanted to 
hit or kick me, he did so, and I had not pluck 
enough to resent it. I had never lifted a finger 
against him till that day. I had meekly sub- 
mitted to his insults and blows, as well as to 
those of his father and mother, even while I 
was conscious that I could have torn him all to 
pieces, if I had been so disposed. 

For the first time in my life I felt that there 
was a lion in me, 'and that I could bite as well 
as be bitten. I had endured hunger, cold, and 
other ill treatment of every shade and nature. 
There was nothing bright in the future, but all 
was as black as the past. I had done nothing 
wrong, but I was called upon to suffer again 
the penalty of an offence of which I was not 


36 


GOING WEST, OR 


guilty. As usual, I was to be the scapegoat 
of Nick. I Avas not allowed to explain about 
the quarter. I say I had done nothing wrong. The 
violence I had used on Nick did not then seem 
to me to be wrong, for I had only captured a 
thief, and taken his booty from him. I repeat, 
I was goaded and stung into an unusual frame 
of mind. A new nature seemed to have been 
suddenly born within me. 

I determined to resist this time, if I had to 
do it with the pitchfork, Avhich stood against the 
haymow. Before I had time to get out of the 
barn and escape to the woods, or even to con- 
sider the line of defence I should adopt, I saw 
Captain Boomsby stalking towards the barn, 
with wrath and indignation apparent in every 
step he took. He was followed by Mrs. Booms- 
by and Nick, and farther back by two of the 
girls. I supposed they came to see the spectacle 
of flogging me, and I was resolved to disappoint 
them if possible. The great doors of the barn 
Avere open, and I fell back to a point near the 
pitchfork as the captain entered. 

“ Didn’t I tell you to bring that rope’s end to 
me ? ” demanded Captain Boomsby, in his usual 
savage tones when he spoke to me. 


THE PETirLS OF A POOK BOY. 


37 


“You did,” I replied, calmly; but I felt the 
volcano that was grumbling within me. 

“ Why didn’t you do it, then ? ” 

“ I thought I wouldn’t.” 

I was apparently so calm that my manner 
seemed to attract the attention of the captain. 
He saw the rope’s end on the floor, and picked 
it up. By this time the wife and son had come 
into the barn, and the girls, either more timid 
or less malignant, halted outside. 

“ You can take your licking here just as well 
as anywhere,” said the tyrant, moving towards 
me. 

“ I don’t mean to take any licking if I can 
help it,” I replied. 

“ You don’t ! ” exclaimed the captain, evidently 
astonished at this reply. 

“No, I don’t!” I added, with more spirit. 
“ I didn’t steal that quarter, and Nicholas did. 
If you hit me with that rope. I'll give Nick the 
biggest licking he ever had in his life, the first 
time I catch him out of the house, if I have to 
die for it. For every lick you give me. I’ll give 
him two.” 

“ You will, you viUain!” gasped Captain 
Boomsby. 


38 


GOING WEST, OR 


“ Yes I will.” 

“Goodness gracious!” ejaculated Mrs. Booms- 
by ; “ what’s that boy cornin’ to I ” 

“We’ll see!” cried the enraged father, as he 
rushed sharply towards me. 

I seized the long-handled i)itchfork, and in 
the attitude of “ charge bayonets,” retreateth 
before him for a few paces, in order to give him 
time to recover himself. 

“ Hold on. Captain Boomsby ! ” I shouted. 
If you come any farther, this pitchfork’s into 
yoir! ” 

He paused when he saw that he was rushing 
upon the tines of the fork. I did not wish to 
punch him with the implement ; but I believe I 
should have done it if he had not stopped where 
he did. No one could have accused the master 
of the Great West of being a brave man. He 
was a brutal tyrant ; and sucli men are generally 
cowards. 

“ Drop that fork, you villain ! ” he gasped, out 
of breath with wrath and fear. 

“ Not yet,” I answered, satisfied with what 
I had thus far accomplished, and encouraged to 
persevere. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


39 


“ Are you going to stick that fork into me, 
you rascal ? ” 

“ That depends on what you do. If you let 
me alone, no. I’m not going to be pounded with 
that rope’s end any more. I don’t deserve it, 
and I won’t stand it.” 

“Yes you do deserve it, and you shall have 
it too,” replied he, considerably reduced. 

“ If you hit me, as I said before, I’ll give 
Nick two licks to your one, if I have to stay 
up nights to do it.” 

“ Don’t, father,” whined Nick, who was cry- 
ing like a great calf, and trembling with fear. 
“ He’ll kill me ; I know he will ! ” 

“What on airth are we' cornin’ to?” groaned 
Mrs. Boomsby ; and I had entirely convinced 
myself by this time that they were all cowards. 

I had always supposed I was a coward myself 
till that moment ; at any rate, I was amazed at 
what I had done. 

“ Are you going to drop that fork, or shall 
I take it away from you ? ” demanded the cap- 
tain, after he had looked at me a moment, ap- 
parently unable to determine what he should do 
next. 


40 


GOING WEST, OR 


“ Take it from me,” I replied, making a lunge 
at him with it, which caused him to retreat a 
few steps. 

“ Be keerful, father,” interposed his wife. 
“ Don’t let him strike you with that pitchfork.” 

“ It’ll be a bitter day for him if he does,” re- 
plied the captain. 

“ And it will be a bitter day for Nick, if you 
hit me with that rope,” I added. 

“ Don’t touch him father ! ” cried Nick, in 
shaky tones. “ He’ll kill me if you do.” 

, “ Do be keerful, father ! ” added Mrs. Boomsby. 

By this time I was satisfied that he intended 
to be careful. In fact, I felt that for the present 
I had won the victory. But I knew very well 
that the first moment he caught me off my 
guard, he would “give it to me.” I felt that 
I had a further duty to perform. 

“ We’ll settle this case another time,” said the 
male tyrant, greatly to the satisfaction of the 
female, I saw, as he threw from him the rope’s 
end. 

I was not fool enough to abandon the pitch- 
fork which had rendered me such an important 
service ; but I placed it in a perpendicular po- 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOT. 


41 


sition, with the tines upon the floor. Thus 
standing like a Roman soldier, with his javelin 
ready for use, I proceeded to express myself a 
little further. 

“ Captain Boomsby, just as soon as you 
catch me without a pitchfork in my hand, you 
will want to give me the licking you would like 
to give me now. Just as sure as you do. I’ll 
give it to Nick the first time I catch him alone.” 

“ Don’t touch him father,” pleaded Nick ; and 
I think he had had enough of me to last him 
for a year. 

“ We’ll settle this another time,” repeated the 
captain. 

“ Whenever you settle it. I’ll settle with Nick 
afterwards,” I added, stoutly. “ I’ve had rope’s 
end enough. When I deserve it I’m willing to 
take it.” 

“ I’ll get the constable to take you up for 
stealing,” said Captain Boomsby. 

“I wish you would,” I replied, eagerly; and 
I meant what I said. “ I should like the chance 
to tell my story before the judge. I’ll bet he’d 
hear me, if you won’t.” 

“ The judge would send you to the house of 
correction,” muttered the captain. 


42 


GOING WEST, OR 


“ I don’t believe he would. It was Nick that 
stole the quarter ; and he stole it twice too. 
The first time, he lost it through the hole in 
his right hand pocket. I found it and gave it 
to Mrs. Boomsby, and she put it on the kitchen 
table. Then Nick came back to look for it, 
and when he saw it on the kitchen table he 
took it again, and I found it in his pocket,” I 
rattled on, finding such a tongue as T did not 
know that I possessed before. “ Is that the truth 
or not, Nick? Speak up like a man for once 
in your life.” 

Involuntarily, and with no “ malice afore- 
thought,” I lowered the pitchfork and pointed 
it towards Nick, as though I meant to punch 
him with it. I heard his teeth shiver with 
terror, and the inarticulate rattle of his voice, as 
he attempted to speak. 

“ Speak out, Nick ! ” I cried. 

“ That’s the truth father. I took the quarter 
twice, and Sandy didn’t steal it,” stammered he, 
turning out the riglit-hand pocket of his trous- 
ers. I lost it through that hole the first time ; 
and then 1 took it again afterwards. Don’t 
touch Sandy, father ; if you do, he’ll kill me — 
I know he will.” 


THE PEfm.S OF A POOR BOY. 


43 


“ The poor boy is skeered out of his wits,” 
said Mrs. Boomsby. “ He didn’t steal the quarter 
no more’ll I did, Parker.” 

“ Yes, I did, mother,” protested Nick, as 
anxious now to plead guilty as he had before 
been to convict me. 

“ Don’t be alarmed, Nicholas,” said Captain 
Boomsby. “ Go into the house, now, and I’ll 
see to this villain.” 

“ I don’t believe Nicholas took the money,” 
persisted Mrs. Boomsby. 

“ Yes, I did, mother ; I hope to die if I 
didn’t ! ” added Nick. “ I took it twice. Don’t 
hurt Sandy, for he didn’t do it. I did it. I 
didn’t mean to do it, and I’m sorry for it.” 

“ Poor boy ! ” groaned Mrs. Boomsby ; “ he’s 
skeered out of his wits ; and that’s what makes 
him say it, when he didn’t do it.” 

“ Yes, I did do it ! ” roared Nick, desperately, 
pulling out his right trousers pocket again. 
“ There’s the hole it went through the first 
time.” 

“ I don’t believe a word on’t. Don’t tell me ! 
My boy won’t steal,” added the mother, obsti- 
nately. “ Now go into the liouse, Nicholas, and 
we’ll see about this business.” 


44 


GOING WEST, OR 


Nick, was evidently glad to escape, and he 
followed his mother out of the barn. Captain 
Boomsby still kept his eye fixed upon me, and 
I patiently waited his next move. 

“ Things have come to a pretty pass,” said he, 
trying to maintain his old bullying spirit. 

“ I think they have, when I have to take the 
lickings for Nick and myself both. He stole the 
money, and I’m not going to be licked for it, 
if I can help it,” I replied, doggedly. 

“You knocked my son down, you villain ! ” 

“ I did knock liim down, but it was only to 
get the quarter from him. I told him I’d do 
it if he didn’t give it up ; so it was his own 
fault.” 

“You are a bad boy.” 

“ Perhaps I am ; I’m bad enough ; but I’m 
not going to take Nick’s lickings.” 

“ I shall have to send you back to the poor- 
house,” he added, when threats seemed to be 
scarce or useless with him. 

, “I shan’t be any worse off there than I am 
here ; I shall get enough to eat there, at least,” 
I answered. 

“We’ll see what’s to be done,” said he, biting 
his lip, and turning to leave. 


THE PERILS OP A POOR BOY. 


45 


“I’m willing to do my work, and take my 
lickings when I deserve them. I don’t know but 
I’d rather go back to the poor-house than stay 
here.” 

“You won’t stay here long. I’ll take you 
aboard the vessel,” replied the captain, as he - 
walked out of the barn. 

I did not suppose I had seen the end of it ; 
but I went back to my work in the garden. 


46 


GOING WEST, OR 


CHAPTER IV. 

SOMETHING ABOUT THE POOR BOY. 

A S Captain Parker Boomsby has very clearly 
intimated that the poor-house had been 
my former home, perhaps the reader desires to 
know something more than this about my ante- 
cedents. I feel quite sure that this same reader 
is on my side of the question of the stolen 
quarter, not because it is my affair, but because 
it is the side of truth and justice. I am very 
sorry indeed that I am unable to give much 
information in regard to myself before I was 
taken into the familj'- of Captain Boomsby. I 
do not even know how I happened to be in 
the poor-house. I had been told that my mother 
was dead, and that I was taken to the institu- 
tion when an infant. Doubtless there was some 
record concerning me on the town books, but 
I had no knowledge of it then. 


TflE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 4? 

I was known by the name' of Alexander Dud- 
dleton. I did not like the surname any better 
than the reader does, but it was the best I had, 
and I was obliged to be contented with it. I 
didn’t like it because other boys called me 
“Buddy,” and “Dud,” for short. It was the 
name of an old Scotch doctor, who had formerly 
attended the patients at the poor-house when 
they were sick. He was a miserable, drunken 
old brute, who died of delirium tremens before 
he was taken from the institution, leaving noth- 
ing behind to perpetuate his name and fame but 
myself. I never felt interest enough in the 
subject to inquire into my origin until it was 
too late for me to do so, for it was only after I 
had left Glossenbury. If I could only get enough 
to eat, and clothes enough to keep me warm in 
the winter, I was not disposed to concern myself 
much about anything else. As I was not bounti- 
fully provided with these necessaries, they con- 
tinued to be the staple of my thoughts. 

While at the poor-house, I was sent to school 
summer and winter, from the time I was five till 
I was eight, simply because I was good for 
nothing else. I learned to read and write, mas- 


48 


GOING WEST, OR 


tered the multiplication table, and could do 
easy sums on the slate. * I was considered a very 
bright scholar, and when the school committee 
came in, I always did honor to my teachers, 
who declared that I was “ fond of my books.” 
When I was eight years old I was deemed fit 
to “do something,” and 1 was kept busy all 
the time that I was not in school. I drove the 
cows to and from the pasture, fed the pigs, 
brought in wood and water, took care of the 
small children, when there were any, waited on the 
cook, ran of errands, and did such other chores 
as could be required of a small boy. I was well 
treated, as a rule, and I don’t know that any 
fault was found with me. I had enough to eat 
of the coarse fare of the poor-house, and as I 
knew no better, I was satisfied with it. 

When I was nine years old, I was considered 
a useful boy ; and when Captain Boomsby came 
to the institution to look for such a one, I was 
so well spoken of by the overseers of the poor, 
that he took me. This was my evil day. I 
have already shown what Captain Boomsby and 
his wife were ; and I have not made them any 
worse than they were. It is a fact, that I often 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 49 

left the table hungry,’ because there was nothing 
more to eat left upon it. I do not mean to say 
that this was always the case, but it happened 
as many as six or eight times a week. About 
three times a week I was tolerably sure of din- 
ner enough. These were when the family had 
corned' beef, salt fish, or baked beans. Some- 
times, but not often, the “ boiled dinner ” failed 
me ; for if what was left consisted of a nice 
piece, which would serve for another dinner, it 
was taken off before I sat down. When the 
burden of the bill of fare was beefsteak, mutton, 
lamb, ham, or poultry, the children usually ate 
as long as there was any left, and I fared 
hardly. 

I had to work like a dog in the house, in the 
barn, and on the farm. I was permitted to go 
to school in the winter, or a part of it ; but I 
think Mrs. Boomsby hated me because I always 
got above her son Nicholas. In the matter of 
clothing, I had only the cast-off garments of 
Captain Boomsby and his son, the former of 
which were much too large, and the latter much 
too small for me. I do not remember that any- 
thing was ever bought for me, except two or three 
4 


50 


GOING WEST, OR 


pairs of shoes for winter use, and I went bare- 
foot in summer. It became a necessity with me 
to learn to sew, in order to keep my ragged 
habiliments upon my back and legs. I had no 
Sunday suit, and I did not go to church and 
Sunday school. The captain said if he could get 
along without going to “ meeting,” I could. 
Whether I could or not, I did. 

I had three tyrants when Captain Boomsby 
was at home, for Nick ordered me about, and 
bullied me quite as much as his parents. When 
he got mad with me, he kicked and hit me at 
his own discretion, for it would cost me a whip- 
ping to resist him. I only got out of his way 
when I could. Sometimes I had to take it for 
not obeying the contrary orders of Nick and his 
mother, and my excuses were of no avail. I 
was so cowed I dared do nothing. In the affair 
of the quarter, my resistance was unpremeditated, 
and I cannot explain to this day how I happened 
to assert myself. 

The Boomsbys had considerable property, 
though they were regarded as very prudent and 
careful, if not mean, in their dealings with 
others. The captain owned the place on which 
he lived, and a quarter of the schooner he com- 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


51 


manded. Before I went to live with him, he 
had a fit of the “ western fever,” and made up 
his mind to emigrate with his family to Michi- 
gan ; but he could not sell his farm for what it 
was worth ; and this alone prevented him from 
carrying his plan into effect. He did not aban- 
don the scheme ; only postponed its execution. 
The owners of the vessel he sailed at that time 
did not like to part with him, for he managed 
the interests of his vessel very well. They in- 
duced him to remain ; they offered to build a 
new schooner, in which he should have a quarter 
interest. When she was read}'- to launch, the 
other owners objected to the name “ Great West,” 
which the captain proposed, for they thought it 
would tend to keep alive in his mind the scheme 
he had postponed ; but they finally yielded the 
point, and the Great West slid into her proper 
element. 

Perhaps the very hardness and parsimony of 
Captain Boomsby, fitted him for his occupation 
as the master of a vessel. It is certain that 
none of the “ likely young men ” of Glossenbury 
would sail with him, because he was so brutal ; 
and his crew were always far below the average 


52 


GOING WEST, OR 


of those who man our coasters. He worked 
them hard, fed them poorly, and treated them 
like dogs. He could obtain freights when there 
were any to be had, for he could afford to 
carry them at lower rates than better men. 
During the months of March and November and 
the greater part of April and October, there 
was not much for me to do on the little farm, 
for we did not plant much besides the garden. 
Doubtless the captain thought that even a little 
idleness would be injurious to me, and during 
these slack times, he took me on board of the 
vessel. 

At the time the story opens, I had made six 
voyages in the Great West. Occasionally she got 
a freight of lumber or fish from Glossenbury to 
New York, or of lumber from an eastern port. 
If she could not obtain a cargo in New York, 
she went to Philadelphia, and carried coal to 
Boston or Portland. At first I liked my life on 
board of the schooner, for it enabled me to see 
something of several of the large cities of the 
nation ; and then, of the poor fare served out to 
the sailors, I had all I could eat. On the first 
trip, I was cabin boy, or steward; but on the 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


53 


second, I was sent forward among the sailors, 
where I soon found that a man’s work was 
expected of me. The Great West was a topsail 
schooner, and my work was to shake out and 
furl the top-gallant sail. During my last two 
trips, I took my trick at the wheel ; and though 
I could not lift, or pull and haul, as much as 
some, I was able to do everything which any 
other hand could do. I was worth about as 
much to the captain as any sailor on board ; and 
I have no doubt he charged the owners full 
wages for me. 

I could not well make six voyages, doing 
active duty, without knowing all about a vessel. 
At the first, if I did not obey an order because 
I did not know a brace from a buntline, I was 
kicked and abused for my ignorance, and I found 
that it was my best policy to learn the names 
of all the ropes at once. Though the crew were 
hard men, the pride of knowing more than I 
did, made them willing teachers. I was a swift 
scholar for the sake of my bones. Through hard 
discipline I learned my duty well. 

The crew of the Great West did not live in the 
cabin, with the captain, as in some coasters, but 


54 


GOING WEST, OR 


in a “ house on deck,” the after part of which 
formed the galley. It was a small, dismal, dirty 
coop, containing six hunks, one of which was 
not occupied, for the schooner had but four 
hands and a cook. I was in the mate’s watch, 
so that the captain could have two full hands in 
his own ; and for this reason I was glad I was 
not “ a full hand,” though the temper of the 
mate was not much better than that of the 
master. I ate with the crew, and bunked with 
them. They were ignorant, coarse, profane men. 
Though the reader may smile at me, I wish to 
say I felt above them, or, at least, above their 
vices. In the poor-house, I had had some re- 
ligious instruction, and I had read a few good 
books. I can truly say that I never used a 
word of profane language in my life. Neither 
the example of Nick, his father, the sailors, nor 
any one else, influenced me in this direction. 
Though I cannot understand it myself, I felt 
above vice and crime. Even in my filth and 
rags, I was above most of the wickedness around 
me. I know not whether this pride was born in 
me, or whether I got it from the teachings of 
those good ladies, who came to the poor-house 


THE PERELS OF A POOR BOY. 


55 


on Sundays to break the bread of life to the 
inmates, the children as well as the old paupers. 
I never saw the day when I was not ashamed 
to lie, swear, or steal, though I have sometimes 
told a falsehood. 

When Captain Boomsby threatened to send me 
back to the poor-house, that institution had no 
terrors to me, for I had been fed, clothed, and 
instructed there. When he spoke of taking me 
on board the vessel, I was not alarmed, for I 
understood my duty there, and fared better than 
in the house of my tyrants. As I said, I went 
to work in the garden again, after the scene in 
the barn. I felt very strangely, for it seemed to 
be almost incredible to me that I had fought a 
battle and won the victory ; or, at least, I held 
the field. I had never before even raised my 
voice against the oppression which bore me down, 
and now I had actually raised both hand and 
voice. 

1 had no ambitious thoughtis. Though I re- 
garded myself as a conqueror. I was not disposed 
to take advantage of the victory I liad won. iL 
was willing to work as before ; in fact, I was at 
work. I did not intend even to stipulate for 


56 


GOING WEST, OR 


more and better food and clothing. I had not 
rebelled against my condition ; only against the 
rank injustice of being flogged for Nick’s sin. 
Still I felt that I had something now which I 
had not before. It was Pluck. Possibly, if I 
had wanted a drink of water at that moment, I 
should have gone for it without any of the fear 
that possessed me half an hour earlier in the 
day. As I spaded up the ground, I cast an 
occasional glance at the back door of the house, 
in order to obtain the earliest intelligence of the 
approach of the enemy. I was in momentary 
expectation of an earthquake, an avalanche, a 
thunder-bolt, or some other fearful outbreak. 

Nothing happened ; nobody came out of the 
house. I knew that the family were talking 
over the great event in the house. I had 
frightened Nick half out of his wits, and in him 
I was sure of a voice to protest against any 
violent measures at present. After the experi- 
ence of the forenoon, he knew how easily I could 
handle him ; and perhaps he wondered that I had 
not shaken him up before. Possibly the fear of 
harm on his part might save me. I worked 
away as hard as usual till half past twelve, when 


THE PERILS OP A POOR BOY. 


57 


Mrs. Boomsby shook a cow-bell very snappishly 
at the back door ; it was the signal that my 
dinner was ready ; and I may add that I was 
as hungry as a bear after his winter sleep. 


58 


GOING WEST, OR 


CHAPTER V. 


A REMARKABLY GOOD DINNER. 

WAS fully aware that going into the kitchen 



to dinner on that occasion was one of the 


Perils of a Poor Boy ; for, if I did not actually 
confront my tormentors, I was in danger of hav- 
ing them pounce upon me at any moment. Like 
a prudent general, I determined to keep a look- 
out in every direction, and not allow myself to 
be surprised. Very cautiously I approached the 
back door, so as not to fall into any trap. I 
am willing to confess that I was always hungry ; 
but I was particularly so at this time, for my 
breakfast had not been of a satisfactory charac- 
ter. Though it was hashed salt fish, it would 
liave been satisfactory if there had been enough 
of it. Perhaps, if I had not been hungry, I 
should have gone into the house when I had the 
opportunity, for I was rather curious to know 
what was to be done with me. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 59 

To my astonishment, I found no one in the 
kitchen but Mrs. Boomsby ; but I was not to 
be thrown off my guard by this circumstance, 
for the enemy might have laid an ambush for 
me. I could neither see nor hear any other 
member of the family. My female tyrant looked 
uglier than usual, if that were possible. She 
was washing dishes at the sink, and she con- 
tinued her occupation after I entered. She 
did not speak to me, or look at me. Seeing 
that I was in no imminent peril, my stomach 
began to assert itself, and I glanced at the table. 
Like the political economists, I was interested 
in the “ food question.” I was curious to learn 
whether I was to be punished for my rebellion 
through my digestive organs, by saving them 
any present labor. 

Possibly I started back with surprise when I 
saw what was on the table ; if I did not, my 
immobility belied me. I was astonished almost 
to the degree of being confounded, for on the 
platter was a very large slice of beefsteak. It 
was thick, just a little rare, and the steam ris- 
ing from it indicated that it was actually hot. 
Besides this, three large potatoes, also smoking 
hot, were in a bowl by the side of the platter ; 


60 


GOING WEST, OR 


and, positively, the white bread had not been 
removed from the table. Slices from the very 
loaf Mrs. Boomsby had bought of the baker with 
that miserable quarter of a dollar, which had 
made such a row, were left on the plate. Wonder 
of wonders, as I continued my survey, I discov- 
ered the quarter of an apple pie. 

I could hardly believe my senses ; in fact, I 
would not believe them at all ; at least, I could 
not believe that these viands were intended for 
me. Mrs. Boomsby had evidently been guilty 
of a blunder, and such a blunder as I had never 
known her to make before, in failing to remove 
these things before I came in. I had never been 
permitted to partake of such a dinner as that 
which now adorned the board. It was clearly 
an omission, a piece of neglect on her part. I 
was embarrassed, and I feared that if I ate those 
delicacies I should be deemed guilty of an unpar- 
donable offence. The lady took no notice of me, 
bestowing not even a glance upon me ; and I 
was not quite willing to take the responsibility 
of eating that dinner. 

While I was at work in the garden, before I 
found the quarter on the ground, the butcher 
had driven into the yard. I heard Mrs. Boomsby 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


61 


say that the captain was coming home, and she 
wanted a very nice steak for his dinner. The 
meat-man answered that he would cut a slice out 
of the finest rump he had. I saw it, hooked on 
his steelyards, when he held it up to weigh it. 
How it made my mouth water ! But I did not 
dare to hope that I should get even a taste of 
it. The salt fish left from dinner the day before, 
or the hashed fish which would not have been 
left if it had been set before me at breakfast, 
would be served at the second table for me. 
Therefore I had no vital interest in that large 
slice of rump steak which looked so tempting. 

I could not get over this feeling, as I surveyed 
the table. It must be an oversight that this beef- 
steak was there, or else the “ old woman,” as 
Nick feelingly called her, had entirely changed 
her plans and purposes. I could not understand 
it. I dared not eat that dinner. I coughed, to 
excite Mrs. Boomsby’s attention ; but the attempt 
was a failure. She would not look at me, or, 
what would have been more to the purpose, at 
the table. What could I do ? She had tinkled 
the cow-bell at the door for me to come to my 
dinner ; but I had never before come to such a 


62 


GOING WEST, OR 


dinner as that. Ordinarily I could not have 
stood there ten seconds without being “ bio wed 
sky high ; ” but I did not get a word from her. 
At last, rather than do a deed which could not be 
expiated or atoned for, I concluded to speak to 
her. She could not any more than bite my head 
off for doing so. 

“ Is my dinner ready, Mrs. Boomsby ? ” I 
asked, timidly. 

“Yes, ’tis ! ” she snapped, as short as pie-crust 
— not as Tier pie-crust, let me say. 

“ Is this beefstake and this apple pie for me ? ” 
I added. 

“ Sit down and eat your dinner, you rascal ! ” 
was the amiable remark she jerked at me. 

This sounded more natural, though the dinner 
still had a sort of supernatural look to me. I 
never was so willing in my life to obey her. I 
sat down and ate my dinner. I worked lively, 
because I was interested in the operation. The 
beefstake was absolutely magnificent ! It was 
hot, juicy, and reasonably tender. I must do 
Mrs. Boomsby the justice to say that it was well 
cooked. It was broiled over the live coals of 
hard wood, in the great fireplace in the back 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 63 

room, which served as a summer kitchen. I did 
my best, but I could not eat the whole of that 
steak, though I hardly reserved the necessary 
space for the apple pie, which was a very un- 
usual luxury to me. 

As long as I could eat, I did not cease to 
wonder at the quality and the quantity of my 
dinner. I had read Sinbad the Sailor, and if 
my tyrants had been cannibals, I could have 
suspected, as that great and reliable voyager did, 
that I was to be fattened for home consumption. 
I had read, in an old newspaper which fell into 
my hands, about a villain who was to be hung, 
and that he had been supplied with a princely 
feast before he was swung off. Possibly this 
first-class dinner was the forerunner of something 
terrible ; perhaps it preceded an immense flog- 
ging. However, these thoughts did not disturb 
me much, so long as I was not to be eaten 
myself. I had had my dinner, and I was entirely 
satisfied with myself. 

I sat at the table, regretting that I had not 
the ability to consume the rest of the steak on 
the platter. I was really waiting for the next 
act in the drama, for I felt sure there was another. 


64 


GOING WEST, OR 


But Mrs Boomsby still rattled her dishes, and 
nothing happened. I was about to rise from the 
table, when the back door opened, and the com- 
mander of the Great West entered the kitchen. I 
made haste to place the table between him and 
me, so that he could not cut off my retreat, 
before I saw that he was followed by Cyril 
Pentatook, one of the constables of the town, 
who lived near the Five Corners. 

“ Don’t you do it, father ! ” whined Nick, 
from the outside of the house. “ He’ll kill me 
if you do ! ” 

“You hear that, Pentatook — don’t you?” 
said Captain Boomsby, in a tone of triumph. 

“ Yes, I hear it,” replied the constable, glanc- 
ing at me. 

“ Don’t you be alarmed, Nick,” I added, ad- 
dressing my third tyrant, as he crept timidly 
into the room. “ I won’t lick you, unless your 
father licks me.” 

“ You see, Pentatook, he has scared my boy 
half out of his wits,” continued the captain. 
“ He has actually made Nicholas own that he 
stole the quarter, when he didn’t do it.” 

“Yes 1 did do it, father!” protested Nick, 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


65 


earnestly ; and he was evidently more afraid of 
me than he was of his paternal parent, who had 
never shaken him up as I had that day. 

“ Well, that’s sort of cu’rous,” added Pen- 
tatook, with a broad grin on his face. 

“ It was Sandy that stole the quarter, what- 
ever Nicholas may say,” interposed Mrs. Boomsby, 
beginning to be excited. 

“ ’Twan’t Sandy!” yelled Nick. “ ’Twas 
me!” 

“ Don’t you mind what he says, Pentatook,” 
said the captain. “ Sandy’s a bad boy, and 
Nicholas is afraid of him. Don’t you heed what 
either of ’em say.” 

“I’m not a go’n to try the case. Captain 
Boomsby ; and it don’t make no difference what 
either on ’em says to me,” added the constable, 
with a broad grin again, as though he intended 
to make it pleasant for his prisoner. “ I’ve got 
a warrant to take up Alexander Duddleton, for 
feloniously heatin’, poundin’, and maltreatin’ 
Nicholas Boomsby, and for assaultin’ Parker 
Boomsby with an armed weapon called a pitch- 
fork.” 

Cyril Pentatook evidently quoted the “ slang ” 

5 


66 


GOING WEST, OR 


of his warrant from his memory, and did not 
hit it in every instance, besides mixing therewith 
some of the terms used in a formidable indict- 
ment. I understood enough of what he said to 
comprehend the situation. My punishment was 
not to be sent back to the poor-house, or to be 
taken on board of the Great West, though 
either of these penalties might follow the present 
scene in the play. I was not alarmed. I tried 
to smile, and my impression now is, that I suc- 
ceeded. 

“ Sandy’s a bad boy,” continued the captain. 
“ He’s dissatisfied with his living. Why, onl} 
to-day, he hinted that he didn’t have enough to 
eat.” 

Of course, Cyril Pentatook, in the face of this 
charge, could not help glancing at the table, if 
he had not done so before. Probably he had 
seen me rising from the table as he came in, 
and he could not help noting the piece of juicy 
steak, the third potato, and the slices of white 
bread which remained on the board. As the 
matter now stood, I could not fail to realize the 
purpose for which I had been so lavishly and 
richly feaestd on this occasion — the constable 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 67 

was to see what and how much I had for din- 
ner. 

“ He seems to have had dinner enough to-day, 
anyhow,” grinned Pentatook. 

“I. have had a first-rate dinner to-day,” I 
replied, with energy and with enthusiasm. 

“ The dinner’s nothing to do with this case,” 
said the constable. “ I’m here arter Alexander 
Duddleton.” 

“ Here I am, Mr. Pentatook ; and I’m ready 
to go with you,” I added, jDi’oniptly, for I was 
really glad of an opportunity to tell my story 
before one of the justices. 

“ But I want you to look into the case a lit- 
tle, Pentatook.” 

“ I don’t try the case, I tell you. Squire 
Bucklemore will do that for you,” answered the 
constable. “ The squire, wants Nicholas to go 
down too.” 

Nicholas ain’t a goin’ ! ” said Mrs. Boomsby. 

“Yes, he is; I’ve got a supeny for him,” re- 
plied the officer. 

Nicholas began to cry, and his parents pro- 
tested. It was no use ; Mr. Pentatook was firm, 
and we all marched down to Squire Buckle- 
more’s office. 


68 


GOING WEST, OB 


CHAPTER VI. 

WHOSE FINGERS WERE BURNED. 

I AM confident that I was the least disturbed 
of any person in the procession which 
marched down the east road to the office of the 
justice who had my case in charge. As Nick 
was going, I had nothing to fear, for he still 
clung to the truth. I had always heard Squire 
Bucklemore spoken of as a fair and just man, 
who was not afraid of anybody or anything. 
That was all I wanted ; and I did not ask any 
favors of anybody. I concluded that Nick did 
not know I was to be arrested till the arrival 
of the officer. When Captain Boomsby had gone 
to Squire Bucklemore’s to make the complaint, 
I could not tell. It might have been before 
dinner or after ; but certainly it had been arranged 
that Mr. Pentatook should find me at my din- 
ner — at that royal dinner, such as I had never 
known before. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 69 

The captain must have struggled to make it 
appear that I was a very bad boy, and that I 
was even bad enough to complain of my food. 
Since there can be nothing meaner than scrimp- 
ing the food of a growing boy, it is quite likely 
that Captain Boomsby was more afraid of what 
I might say on this subject than on any other. 
All I could make of the case was that my 
tyrants — excepting Nick — were afraid to punish 
me, and intended to have me sent to the house 
of correction. A walk of a few minutes brought 
us to the squire’s office. On the way, my tyrants 
improved the time in showing the constable what 
a bad boy I was. I walked ahead of them, and 
Nick dragged some distance behind, groaning and 
blubbering like a great calf. 

“ Which is the Duddleton boy ? ” asked Squire 
Bucklemore, when the constable had ushered us 
all into the office which was the forum of justice 
for small cases. 

“ This one,” replied Mr. Pentatook, placing 
his hand on my head. 

“ That one ? I supposed it must be the other,” 
added the squire, smiling. 

“ The other’s the Boomsby boy.” 

“ Come here, my lad,” said Squire Buckle- 


TO 


GOING WEST, OR 


more, beckoning to Nick with his finger. “ What 
are you crying for ? ” 

“ Sandy has skeered him almost to death,” 
answered Mrs. Boomsby. 

“ Let the boy speak for himself,” added the 
justice. “What are you crying for, my lad?” 

“ I didn’t want to come here,” whined Nick. 

“ Why not ? I shall not hurt you, if you have 
been a good boy.” 

“ I haven’t been a good boy,” groaned Nick, 
with a convulsive start. 

“ He’s skeered of Sandy,” said his mother. 

“ Madam, this is a court of law, and you 
must speak only when you are spoken to,” 
added Squire Bucklemore, majestically. “ Now, 
my lad, you are brought here only as a witness ; 
no one prosecutes you ; and all we want of you 
is to tell the truth. Alexander Duddleton is 
charged with assaulting you, my lad.” 

“ He didn’t hurt me any,” blubbered Nick. 

“ Why, Nicholas ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Boomsby ; 
“you know you couldn’t hardly walk a step 
arter it was done.” 

“ He shall tell his own story in due time,” 
added the squire, turning to me. — “ Alexander 
Duddleton.” 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. n 

“That’s my name, sir,” I answered, cV •^ful- 
ly, stepping up to the justice. 

He rehearsed the charges against me, and 
asked me to plead guilty or not guilty. The 
whole thing was a mystery to me, and I did not 
know what the squire meant. But he spoke so 
tenderly to me, that I could not help feeling that 
I was in good hands. He explained the matter 
to me. 

“ I did give Nick a h’ist this forenoon,” I re- 
plied. 

“ There ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Boomsby ; “ I told 
you so ! ” 

“ Do you mean to plead guilty, and let the 
matter end here ? or do you want the case looked 
into, Alexander ? ” asked the squire. 

“ I don’t mean to tell any lies. I’m willing 
to tell just what I did and what I did not do,’ 

I replied. 

“ Pleading ‘ not guilty ’ is not telling a lie ; 
it only means that you desire a trial-, that you 
wish to have the case looked into.” 

“ I should like to tell my story,” I added. 

“Very well, Alexander; tell your story, and 
you shall plead afterwards,” said the squire, 
yery kindly. 


72 


QOmG WESr, OR 


I told my story, from the moment I started 
to go into the house for a drink of water, till the 
moment I was arrested on a full stomach, after 
that glorious dinner ; and I did not withhold my 
meed of praise from that royal feast of beefsteak 
and apple pie ; whereat the justice smiled very 
perceptibly. I may as well add here, though I 
did not know it at the time, that the Boomsbys 
did not stand very well among the good people 
of Glossenbury, and it was currently reported 
that the boy taken by them from the poor-house, 
was ill treated and half starved. For this reason 
Squire Bucklemore had a great deal of sympathy 
for me, and was particularly careful that I should 
have fair play. The squire told me this himself, 
a great many years afterwards. 

While I was telling my story, to which the 
justice listened with the closest attention, I was 
frequently interrupted by Mrs. Boomsby. When 
I related that I had taken the quarter from 
Nick’s pocket, she broke in — 

“ That’s an awful lie ! ” 

“ Mrs. Boomsby, if you interrupt the proceed- 
ings again, Mr. Pentatook shall turn you out 
of the room,” said the squire, sternly and decid- 
edly. 



Sandy telling his Story to Squire Bucki.emoue. Page 7 







THE PERILS OP A POOR BOY. 


73 


By this time I was satisfied that both of my 
tyrants wished they had not brought the case 
before the justice. 

“ Now, my lad, how will you plead ? ” asked 
the squire. 

“ I don’t know, sir. I have told the whole 
truth,” I replied. 

“ Very well. When a prisoner declines to 
plead, we enter it as not ‘ guilty,’ ” added the 
justice. 

] was willing to let it go so ; and Nick was 
called. The squire told him to hold up his right 
hand, which Nick did, shaking all the time like 
a man with the ague. His father and mother 
were called and sworn at the same time. 

“ Nicholas Boomsby,” said the squire ; and 
Nick stood up before him. “ Now, my lad, you 
are under oath. Do you know what that 
means ? ” 

“ Yes, sir — no, sir,” blubbered Nick. 

“ It means that if you don’t tell the truth in 
this case, you will be guilty of perjury ; and for 
perjury you may be sent to prison for any length 
of time less than twenty years.” 

“ I will tell the truth,” protested Nick. 


74 


GOING WEST, on 


“ Very well. Now tell me how it happened 
that Alexander assaulted you,” continued the 
squire. 

“ It was just as Sandy said, sir,” replied the 
witness. 

The justice required him to tell the story, 
and he told it. It was the “ whole truth, and 
nothing but the truth.” Mrs. Boomsby could 
hardly contain herself, and several times she 
attempted to make a remark ; but Cyril Penta- 
took had placed himself by her side, and kept 
her still. Nick confessed that he had taken the 
quarter twice, and that I had “ tipped him over ” 
only after he refused to give it up. Mrs. 
Boomsby was called and she was solemnly 
reminded that she was under oath. She told 
how the quarter had been twice taken from the 
kitchen table ; but when she said that I had 
taken it, the squire again reminded her that she 
was under oath, and that she was to tell only what 
she knew herself. All the evidence she gave of 
any value, was the fact that I had twice handed 
her the quarter ; and this only confirmed the 
truth of Nick’s story. After this, the testimony 
in relation to the affair in the barn was taken- 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


75 


I \v<as permitted to testify in my own behalf, 
after my rights were fully explained to me ; and 
I told my story over again, under oath, exactly 
as I told it before. Then the justice gave his 
decision. 

“ This case ought not to have been brought 
into a court, for it is only an affair of family disci- 
pline,” said Squire Bucklemore. “ But, as it has 
been brought before me, I am obliged to settle 
it. It does not appear that there was any 
assault in the barn upon Captain Boomsby. The 
boy Alexander was threatened, and an attempt 
was actually made to flog him with a rope. The 
defendant resisted by retreating and menacing 
the plaintiff with a pitchfork. It appears now, 
as it appeared then, — for Nicholas confessed his 
error, — and the defendant was not guilty of the 
offence with which he was charged. He was to 
be wrongfully punished ; and some discretion 
should be used in considering his conduct. 
Though his act may be considered as a technical 
assault, I think, under the circumstances, the 
defendant is entitled to his discharge on this 
count. 

“ In regard to the assault upon the boy Nicho- 


76 


GOING WEST, OR 


las, the charge is clearly proved, and not denied 
by the defendant. It was only a boy quarrel, 
though I am compelled to regard it as some- 
thing more serious. Alexander certainly as- 
saulted Nicholas, and threw him upon the grass 
at the side of the road ; but it does not appear 
that he used any more force than was necessary 
to obtain the quarter which he needed for his 
own vindication. As a matter of equity, it 
would almost seem that the defendant was justi- 
fied in whfit he did ; but the law does not so 
regard it. Alexander had no right to take the 
law into his own hands, for such a course is 
always dangerous to the rights and liljerty of the 
citizen. Alexander ought to have come to me 
and complained of Nicholas for stealing the money. 
A warrant would then have been issued for the 
arrest of the thief, and it would have been the 
duty of the constable, in a legal manner, to 
search Nicholas. 

“ Thus Alexander would have vindicated him- 
self. But he appears not to have had any 
knowledge of the legal remedy in his case, and 
he committed an offence against the peace and 
dignity of this commonwealth. The charge is 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


77 


proved, and I am compelled to sentence him to 
pay a fine of one dollar and costs of court, 
amounting to three dollars and forty-five cents, 
and to stand committed until paid.” 

Long before the squire finished his speech, I 
saw that the Boomsbys were thoroughly disgusted 
with this sort of law. It was not the kind they 
wanted ; but it exactly suited me, though I was 
a little startled when I was condemned to pay 
the fine and costs. Of course I could not pay 
it ; and I had not the least idea what “ stand 
committed ” meant. It soon appeared that Cap- 
tain Boomsby was not much better informed. 

“ But who is to pay this fine and costs ? ” 
asked he. “ The boy can’t pay the bill.” 

“As I understand the matter, you are his 
legal guardian. Captain Boomsby ; and it devolves 
upon you to pay his fine,” replied the justice,- 
and I saw the twinkle in the corner of his eye. 

“ Upon me ! ” gasped the commander of the 
Great West. 

“ Certainly ; as you pay for his board, clothes, 
and other expenses,” added the squire, quietly. 

“ Who on airth ever heard of such a thing ? ” 
shrieked Mrs. Boomsby. “We persecute him 


78 


GOING WEST, OR 


for assaaidn’ our boy, and we have to pay the 
fine and costs ! ” 

“ Certainly, madam. A man complained of 
his wife for beating him over the head with a 
broomstick ; and he only had to pay her fine, or 
lose her services as housekeeper for three or 
four weeks. He had his choice, and he paid 
the fine. You can do the same, or not, as you 
please.” 

“ What if I don’t pay it?” asked the captain. 

“ Then Alexander will be committed to the 
lock-up for three or four weeks. Mr. Pentatook 
is responsible for his prisoners ; but I believe in 
these small cases he takes them home, boards 
them in his own house, and lets them work in 
the garden to pay for their board,” chuckled 
the squire. 

This arrangement exactly suited me, but it did 
not suit the Boomsbys, who wished me to be 
shut up in jail. I was quite sure that I should 
fare as well at Cyril Pentatook’s as at my old 
home. The captain and his wife were perplexed 
and confounded. They evidently did not know 
what to do. 

“ There is one other view to be taken of this 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


79 


affair. It appears that a crime has been com- 
mitted ; a quarter of a dollar was stolen from 
Mrs Boomsby by her son ; but a son has no 
right to steal from his mother. The law makes 
no distinction in regard to the person upon 
whom the theft is committed. Alexander has 
been the sufferer by this theft ; and if he should 
enter the complaint against the thief, I should 
be obliged to grant a warrant for the arrest of 
Nicholas,” continued the squire, very mildly. 

“ I’ll pay the fine and costs,” groaned Captain 
Boomsby ; and he did so. 

I was discharged and sent home. Mrs. Booms- 
by and Nick soon followed me ; but the captain 
did not return for over an hour. I suspected 
that Squire Bucklemore had a talk with him 
but nothing was said to me about it. 


80 


GOING WEST, OR 


CHAPTER VII. 

MT WAEDROBE AND OTHER MATTERS. 

I RESUMED my work as soon as I returned 
home. I was much better satisfied with the 
results of the trial, than my tyrants. I hoped 
the events of the day would tend to improve my 
condition, and make the future more hopeful for- 
me. I had clearly won a victory, and, while T 
did not intend to do anything to provoke my 
oppressors, I hoped to reap the fruits of my 
victory. But I had not been at work long, be- 
fore Captain Boomsby walked into the yard, 
looking as sore and as savage as though I had 
robbed him of the hope of a lifetime. He 
marched directly towards me, and every step he 
took indicated the depth of his wrath. 

“ I s’pose you think ^mu’ve got the best of 
me this time, you rascal,” said he. “ But you 
haven’t seen the end of this business yet.” 


THE PEBILS OF A POOR BOY. 


81 


“ I don’t think you have any reason to com- 
plain of me. I haven’t done anything, as I 
know of,” I replied. 

“ Don’t tell me you villain,” roared he. 

“ Squire Bucklemore didn’t think I had done 
anything wrong.” 

“ I don’t care what Squire Bucklemore says 
or thinks,” growled the captain savagely, 
i ‘‘I am willing to work, and do all that’s 
wanted of me ; but I don’t think it’s just the 
thing to lick me for what Nick does.” 

“No matter what you ‘think. I don’t want 
you to think at all,” added Captain Boomsby, 
gruffly. 

I thought this was rather a hard case ; but it 
was just what he meant, whether he had said it 
or not ; and I did not venture to make any 
reply. He wished me to be like a dog — come 
when I was called, and pick up my own living. 
However, I did not purpose to resist anything 
short of actual violence. I looked on the 
ground, so that even my “ stare ” might not be 
considered impudent, and awaited his next 
move. 

“ We are going to teach you what you’re good 
for,” he continued, in threatening tones. (6) 


82 


GOING WEST, OR 


“I know I’m not good for much,” I answered, 
meekly, for I did not wish to bring about another 
row. 

“You ain’t half so big a man as you think 
you are,” he added, glowering uf)on me like an 
ogre. “ You shall know your place.” 

This was a favorite argument of the captain — 
to get all his surbordinates into their proper 
places. He seemed to be afraid some of them 
would aspire to reach his lofty level ; but I ac- 
knowledge that I had no such towering am- 
bition. 

“ I think I know my place now,” I ventured 
to add. 

“ I’ll let you know you ain’t the equal of my 
boy.” 

“ I don’t pretend to be his equal, or anything 
of the sort.” 

“ Yes, you do. You put on airs as if you 
didn’t come from the poor-house. You’ve got 
to be too big to take a lickin’ when you deserve 
it ; and it’s time sunthin’ was done.” 

“I’m willing to take my own lickings.” 

“ I’m not goin’ to ask you whether you are 
willing or not.” 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


8 ^ 


“ I don’t think it’s right for me to take Nick’s 
lickings as well as my own,” I added ; and it 
seemed to me that a proposition so clear and 
plain, needed no demonstration. 

“ What do I care what you think ? ” sneered 
he. “ You’ve gone just as far as you’re goin’ 
on this tack. ’Taint no use to talk any more 
about it.” 

I didn’t suppose it was, and so I made no 
reply. I think he wanted to provoke me to 
make a saucy answer, in order to find an excuse 
for pitching into me, though he did not generally 
trouble himself to look up excuses for Avhat he 
did. I half suspected that Squire Bucklemore 
had said something to him about me, for the 
justice had certainly been on my side during the 
trial. He had really seemed like a friend to me, 
and I was very grateful to him. 

“ I reckon I’ll take you on board the vessel, 
when I go off again,” he continued, looking 
savage enough to bite off a board nail. “ I guess 
I can manage you there, without no judges nor 
constables.” 

“ I’m willing to go in the vessel,” I replied, 
wishing to avoid all appearance of opposition. 


84 


GOING WEST, OB 


“ Don’t tell me you’re willin’,” said he, fiercely. 
“ I don’t care whether you are willin’ or not ; ” 
and he seemed to be mad because I was willing. 

Certainly I wished to conciliate that man. 
But I might as well have attempted to make 
peace with a hyena or a boa-constrictor. He 
was always ugly to me, and I cannot remember 
that he ever spoke a kind word to me. Rough 
and hard as Captain Boomsby was, his wife was 
as rough and hard as he was. It really made 
no difference to me, whether I went to sea or 
staid on shore ; I was sure of more kicks than 
coppers on land or on the water. It seemed to 
me that I fared just a shade better on board of 
the Great West than I did on the farm, because 
the captain spent most of his time in the cabin 
and on the quarter-deck, so that, on the fore- 
castle, I was out of his sight. However, I had 
no doubt of his power to “ make it hot ” for 
me, wherever I was. I was not aware that I 
could do anything to better my condition, and I 
had no thought of anything but submission. 
This world seemed like a very cold and dismal 
place to me, and the future was exceedingly 
dark and forbidding. Though I had been guilty 


THE PERILS OP A POOR BOY. 


85 


of no offence, I realized that I was to suffer 
because I had rebelled at the rankest injustice. 

Captain Boomsby turned on his heel, and 
walked into the house. I continued my work, 
but I was in no very pleasant frame of mind. 
I was almost sorry that I had not permitted 
Nick to retain the quarter, and taken the con- 
sequence for stealing it — not quite, for the 
satisfaction I had derived from asserting and 
maintaining my rights was a sufficient offset to 
half a dozen floggings. Stealing was an awful 
crime to me, and I do not know that anything 
less than charging me with such a crime, when 
I was innocent, could have induced me to lay 
violent hands on the sacred person of the cap- 
tain’s son, or to level a pitchfork at the captain 
himself. I had done it, however, and now I 
was to take the consequences. 

While the captain remained at home, I was 
treated in about the same manner as before ; 
that is, I had plenty of work, with just what 
the rest of the family left me to eat ; and it 
seemed to me that they left even less than be- 
fore the tempest in the barn; certainly that 
glorious dinner of beefcteak and apple pie was 


86 


GOING WEST, OR 


not repeated. In a few days I had finished 
planting the early peas, and had prepared the 
ground for the other vegetables, so that there 
was no more steady work for me to do. The 
Great West was taking in a cargo of fish, and 
was to sail for New York in a few days. I had 
no doubt that I should go in her ; and, to tell 
the truth, I was not sorry to do so, for at sea 
I should at least reduce the number of my 
tyrants. 

“ Sandy, pack up your duds, and go aboard 
the vessel,” said Mrs. Boomsby, about a week 
after the trial. 

My female tyrant said this as though she 
had condemned me to a terrible fate. Though 
I did not think it would be then, it proved to 
be more terrible than I had anticipated ; and 
the events of the voyage became one of the 
turning-points of my existence. 

“ I don’t know that I have any duds to pack,” 
I replied ; and perhaps it was impudent for me 
to make such a remark, since it was an impu- 
tation upon my tyrants for the meagreness of 
my wardrobe ; but somehow, I could not help it, 
for the lady spoke as though she had given me 
an extensive job to do. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 87 

“ Don’t give me none of your impudence,” 
snapped she. “ You’ve got more clothes than 
you deserve. I suppose you want to be dressed 
up like a gentleman now — don’t you ? ” 

“If I am going to sea, I should like rags 
enough to cover my back.” 

“ Don’t be sassy.” 

It was saucy to ask for anything to eat or to 
wear. I was the proprietor of a few old rags, 
which Avere wholly insufficient to keep me warm, 
and I went up stairs to the attic to gather them 
together. Nick’s overcoat, with the skirts cut 
off, served me for a jacket ; the captain’s trous- 
ers, “ razeed ” at the bottom, were my nether 
garment ; and my hat, or cap, was anything I 
could pick up about the place. I confess that I 
was vain enough to desire something better than 
this wardrobe. Mrs. Boomsby evidently thought 
I intended to become a dandy, because I spoke 
rather disrespectfully of this suit. It was not 
enough to protect me from the cold blasts of 
the ocean ; not enough to keep me from shivering 
while on my watch in the fog and rain ; and 
certainly not enough to enable me to make a 
decent appearance in the streets of Glossenbury 


88 


GOING WEST, OR 


or New York, whither I was bound. I had an 
extra woollen shirt, — one of a pair which had 
shrunk so that the captain could not wear them, 
— and a second pair of socks, which I rolled up 
in my jacket, for I seldom wore the latter gar- 
ment, except in the coldest weather on shore. 
]\Iy trunk, therefore, was soon packed. I was 
ready for the voyage. I went down stairs with 
my bundle, and waited for the moving of the 
waters. 

“ What do you sit there for, gawpin’ like a 
sculpin?” demanded Mrs. Boomsby, frowning 
at me as though I had done something very 
naughty. 

“ I’m waiting for further orders,” I replied, 
rising from the chair where I had seated my- 
self. 

“ Didn’t I tell you to go aboard the vessel ? 
How many more times do you want me to tell 
you? ” 

“ Once will do ; but I didn’t know’s you was 
ready to have me go yet.” 

“ Yes, I’m ready, and glad to git red of you. 
Git out of the house as fast as ever you can ; 
and I hope it will be a long day before I see 
you a^ain.” 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


89 


“ This was her parting benediction ; and it 
was a longer day than she or I anticipated before 
she saw me again. I made no reply, and in- 
dulged in no good by. I left the house, and in 
the yard I met Nick. 

“ Where you going, Sandy ? ” he asked ; but 
he had entirely lost his bullying tone and man- 
ner towards me ; and, since the affair in the 
road a week before, he had not ceased to be 
afraid of me, though I would not have harmed 
him for the world, except in self-defence. 

“ On board of the vessel,” I answered. 

“ It’s none o’ my doings, Sandy,” he added. 

**1 know that.” 

“ I didn’t know but that you thought I was 
the means of having you sent off. But I wasn’t. 
I never said a word about it.” 

“ I don’t blame you, Nick ; and I shouldn’t 
care if you had been the means of sending me 
off. It don’t make much difference to me where 
I go.” 

“ Do you want to go to sea ? ” he asked. 

“ I had as lief go to sea as stay on the fariU' 
I shall have hard fare wherever I go.” 

“ The old woman’s pretty rough on you, any- 


90 


GOING WEST, OK 


how,” continued Nick ; “ and so’s the old man, 
for that matter.” 

“ That’s so.” 

“ I shouldn’t wonder if the old man made it 
hot for you on board of the vessel.” 

“ I should wonder if he didn’t.” 

“You got about even with him a week ago, 
in the barn, you know, Sandy. Why don’t you 
try it on again ? ” 

“What do you mean, Niek?” 

“ Don’t you remember, Sandy ? ” 

I was not quite ready to believe that the son 
meant to counsel me to resist the father, and I 
did not comprehend him ; but there was no more 
feeling of parental love or respect in him, than 
there was in a brickbat. 

“ I don’t understand you,” I added. 

“ Didn’t you face the old man with the pitch- 
fork out to the barn, a week ago ? ” asked he, 
chuckling as though it was a good joke. 

“Well, what if I did?” 

“Why don’t you try it on again? You got 
the best of dad that time.” 

“ I don’t think I made anything by it,” I 
added gloomily. “ It would have been just as 


THE PEP.TLS OF A POOR BOY. 


91 


well, if not a little better for me, if I had let it 
go that I had stole the quarter, instead of put- 
ting it on you, where it belonged.” 

“ I didn’t mean to get you, into a scrape, 
Sandy,” he continued, rather sheepishly. 

“ It’s all the same now.” 

“ Well, good by, Sandy ; and when you come 
back, we will be better friends.” 

“ I’m agreed. Good by, Nick,” I replied, 
resuming my walk towards the wharf where the 
Great West lay. 

In a short time I reached my destination, and 
went on board of the vessel. Captain Boomsby 
was on the quarter-deck, and, tossing my bundle 
into the forecastle, I hastened to present my- 
self for duty. 


92 


GOING WEST, OR 


CHAPTER VIII. 

ON BOARD THE GREAT WEST. 

6 6 'T'X THERE have yon been laggin’ all the 
V V mornin’, you rascal, you ? ” demand- 
ed Captain Boomsby, as I showed myself in the 
waist. 

“ I came on board as soon as I was told to 
do so,” I replied : but I might just as well 
have held my tongue. 

“ You’ve been foolin’ by the wa}^, as you 
alius do, you villain ! Now, grab that peak 
halyard, and look alive ! ” blustered the captain. 

1 took hold of the rope with one of the hands. 
I knew my duty, and I was willing to do it. 'I 
worked with a will, for I wanted to know 
whether or not it made any difference how faith- 
ful I was. I put forth my whole strength, — 
and for a boy of twelve, I had a great deal. 
When the mainsail was set, we were ordered 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


93 


to hoist the foresail. My place was at the peak, 
as before, and I exerted myself to the utmost. 

“ Why don’t you pull, you lubber, you ? ” said 
the captain with an oath. 

I had done the best I could, but it was of no 
use. However, I determined that, if I was 
abused, it should not be my fault, and I con- 
tinued to do my best. I was not heavy and 
slow-moulded, as one might have judged by the 
way Captain Boomsby talked to me ; on the 
contrary, I was quick and lively. Among the 
hands with whom I had sailed before, I had the 
reputation of being a smart boy. I did not 
make as much noise as some of the men, but I 
did almost as much work, even in hoisting the 
heavy fore and aft sails ; and in the light work 
of shaking out the topsails, I was so nimble, 
that I could beat most of them. As I have said 
before, only the meanest class of men would 
ship on board of the Great West, because her 
captain was a brute ; and those who were at 
work with me at this time, were all so drunk 
that they could hardly stand. Captain Boomsby 
swore at them, and swore at me ; but I think I 
received more than my fair share of his blasphe- 


^4 


GOING WEST, OR 


mous abuse. If I had been disposed to use 
profane language, his disgusting example would 
have prevented me from doing so. 

“ Now, lay aloft and shake out that to’gal- 
lant-sail, you young cub ! ” shouted the captain, 
pointing to me. “ Look alive now, and don’t be 
all day about it.” 

I ran up the fore-shrouds as swiftly as though 
the safety of the schooner depended upon the 
celerity of my movements. A young fellow, 
who had been on a spree for a week, was sent 
aloft to loose the topsail ; but he was too tipsy 
to do anything more than keep himself from 
tumbling off the yard ; indeed, I was afraid he 
would fall. When I had loosed my sail, I slid 
down on the halyard to the topsail-yard, then 
dropped upon the foot-rope, where the drunken 
tar was trying to cast off the gasket. I loosed 
the rope and removed it from the sail. 

“ Mind your eye, Dick Blister ! ” I called to 
him, as I let fall the sail. “ Don’t tumble off 
the yard, my hearty.” 

“Aloft there! What are you about, Sandy? 
Who told you to meddle with the topsail ? 
hailed the captain, from the deck. “ Lay down 
from aloft, this minute 1 ” 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 95 

I scampered down the rigging as fast as my 
legs would carry me. As I leaped from the 
rail upon the deck, I received half a dozen cuts 
over my arm and shoulder with a rope’s end, in 
the hands of Captain Boomsby, who had gone 
forward to meet me as I came down. The blows 
were as heavy as he could comfortably make 
them. To say that “ it hurt,” would not cover the 
case, for my flesh was lacerated by the opera- 
tion. 

“ Who told you to go on the topsail-yards ? ” 
demanded my tyrant, savagely. 

“ I was afraid Dick Blister would fall off the 
yard,” I pleaded. 

“ It’s none of your business if he does fall. 
By and by, perhaps you’ll learn to obey orders, 
if all the ropes’ ends don’t give out,” growled 
the captain, panting with the exertion he had 
used in running forward, and in flogging me. 

I retreated to the forecastle, rubbing my 
wounded arm, but determined to profit by the 
lesson I had just received. The halyards were 
manned, the yards hoisted up, and the sail sheeted 
home. The captain ordered me to take the stops 
off the flying-jib, and Dick Blister those of the 


96 


GOING WEST, OR 


jib. I went out on the flying-jib-boom, and 
Dick followed me as far as the jib-stay. My 
work was done in a minute, and in the ordinary 
course of duty, I should have helped Dick out, 
for his job was a bigger one than mine ; but I 
knew better, in the present instance, than to do 
anything of the kind ; at least I thought I knew 
better. I stood on the jib-boom, holding on at 
the stay, for I could not pass Dick. Presently 
I saw that the ugly eye of my tyrant was fixed 
upon me. I was standing still, and I knew that 
this was a crime. My tipsy shipmate was fum- 
bling over the jib, and not likely to finish it in 
the next hour ; so I slid down to the cathead on 
one of the guys, and leaped in on the deck. I 
was not a moment too soon, for the skipper was 
after me. He was as savage as a meat-axe. If 
I had let the vessel broach too with the wind on 
the beam," he could not have come at me more 
furiously. 

“ What are you about, you lazy villain ? Don’t 
you know any better than to stand there, with 
your hands in your pockets, when we’re getting 
the schooner under way ? ” roared he, choking 
with wrath. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


97 


“ I’ve done what you told me to do,” I' 
answered, with all the humility I could summon 
to my aid. “ I have loosed the flying-jib.” 

“ Is that all there is to be done ? ” 

“ That’s all you told me to do.” 

“ Why didn’t you help Dick loose the jib, you 
lazy cub ? ” 

“You didn’t give me any orders to do so.” 

“Didn’t I? Well, I’ll give them now,” he 
continued, beginning to pound me with a rope’s 
end he carried in his hand for the purpose. 

“ Just now you flogged me for helping Dick 
shake out the topsail, without orders ; and now 
you flog me for not helping him, when you 
haven’t told me to do so,” I cried, running up 
the fore-rigging a short distance, to get out of 
his way. 

I had permitted him to give me but one blow 
this time, and his injustice was so glaring that I 
could not endure it. Perhaps the remembrance 
of the scene in the barn stimulated me to resist- 
ance, but nothing save the grossest cruelty 
could have fired me to do so. 

“ Come down out of that rigging, you villain ! ” 
gasped the savage tyrant, flourishing the rope at 

( 7 ) 


me. 


98 


GOING WEST, OB 


“ Not just yet,” I replied ; and I was deter- 
mined that 1 would jump overboard before I 
would submit to any more castigation. My 
“ ebenezer ” was up ; I did not deserve it, and I 
could not stand it. 

“ Will you come down out of that rigging, or 
shall I go up after you ? ” demanded Captain 
Boomsby, foaming with rage. 

“ I’d rather you’d come up after me, if it’s all 
the same to you,” I answered, saucily, for I had ' 
become desperate, and did not care a straw what 
became of me. 

Captain Boomsby leaped upon the rail, but he 
might as well have attempted to chase a red 
squirrel up an oak tree, as to follow me. I ran 
up the ratlines like a cat, and he after me. By 
this time, the gaze of all hands, as well as that 
of a small crowd on the wharf, was fixed upon 
me. When I reached the mast-head, I decided 
that it was not prudent for me to go any higher ; 
for, if I did, he could cut off my retreat. Leav- 
ing the foremast, I ran out on the spring-stay, 
which extends horizontally to the mainmast. 
This movement on my part called out a laugh 
from the spectators, which did not tend to 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


99 


improve the temper of the captain. I will not 
soil my page by transcribing the string of oaths 
my tyrant uttered, when he discovered what I 
intended to do. If there was ever a man insane 
with passion, Captain Boomsby was the one. 

“ Stop him, Barnes ! ” screamed the captain, 
hoarse with wrath, when he realized that I was 
in a fair way to reach the deck first. 

Barnes was the mate ; but he was a new man 
on board of the Great West, and was not inclined 
to do anything out of the strict line of his duty. 
He was standing near the foot of the foremast, 
and he moved rather leisurely towards the quarter- 
deck, as though he did not care to obey the 
order of the skipper. Possibly the laugh of the 
crowd, who appeared to rejoice in the discomfi- 
ture of the captain, had some effect upon him. 
Nobody likes to run in opposition to the multi- 
tude. Evidently the sympathies of the specta- 
tors were in favor of the “ bottom dog,” and I 
was not much afraid of the interference of any 
person. 

But I deemed it prudent to make a halt on 
the main-rigging, in order to determine what 
opposition I liad to expect from the mate. His 


100 


GOING WEST, OR 


lazy movements assured me that I had not much 
to fear from him. If he was not a friend, he 
was disposed to be neutral, and I did not care 
to place him in an awkward position before his 
superior officer. For this reason, I retained my 
position about half way between the deck and 
the mainmast-head. 

“ Why don’t you go aloft and bring him down, 
Barnes ? ” yelled Captain Boomsby. “ Can’t you 
hear me?” 

“ I hear you, replied the mate, in a low, 
dogged tone. But he made no movement to 
obey. 

“ Why don’t you go up and bring that boy 
down, then ? ” demanded the tyrant, apparently 
astonished at the apathy of his subordinate. 

Barnes seated himself on the fife-rail, at the 
heel of the mainmast, looking as though he had 
not the least interest in anything on the earth 
below. I was intensely solicitous in regard to 
his future action, and I was pleased to find that 
he had drawn off the attention of the crowd 
from me to himself. For the moment he was 
the hero of the scene, for his silent refusal to 
obey his superior indicated a greater disturbance 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


101 


than the mere disciplining of a boy. The mate 
made no reply to the last question of the cap- 
tain ; instead of being properly impressed by the 
mandate of the master, he even had the impu- 
dence to take out an old black pipe, strike a 
match, and light it. Very leisurely he puffed 
away, and surveyed the crowd on the wharf 
with a mighty indifference. 

Captain Boomsby was apparently amazed at 
this conduct, as soon as he realized its meaning. 
He descended from the fore-rigging, and walked 
aft to the quarter-deck, where he confronted the 
cool mate. Barnes was a stout, heavy down- 
easter, weighing nearly two hundred, and a person 
of good judgment would not have selected him 
as a suitable man with whom to make a fuss. 
The skipper looked at him ; Barnes returned his 
gaze with something like a look of supreme con- 
tompt on his bronzed countenance. 

“ Do you command this vessel, or do I ? ” 
demanded Captain Boomsby, shaking with anger. 

“ That’s a conundrum, and I ain’t good for 
guessing ’em,” replied the mate, with a smile. 

Barnes did not appear to be disposed to talk, 
but rose from his seat, and went down into the 


102 


GOING WEST, OR 


cabin. In a moment he re-appeared with an 
overcoat on his arm, arid a valise in his hand. 
Without a word to the captain, he moved towards 
the wharf. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


103 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE mate’s advice. 

F rom my position on the main-rigging I 
could see and hear both parties in the 
strife, and even note the expression on their 
faces. Captain Boomsby was apparently con- 
founded by the demonstration of the mate. He 
looked up to me as though he had just discov- 
ered that he had made a mistake. The Great 
West was all ready to sail, and the mate was on 
the point of leaving. Barnes had the reputation 
of being an excellent mate, and people wondered 
that he had shipped with such a man as Captain 
Boomsby was known to be ; but he was out of 
a job, and this was his only excuse, as he ex- 
pressed it himself. 

“ Hold on a minute, Barnes. Where are you 
going ? ” said the skipper, in a rather subdued 
tone. 


104 


GOING WEST, OR 


“ I’m goin ashore,” replied the mate, stopping, 
and turning round to confront the tyrant. 

“What do you mean by that?” asked the 
captain. “ I thought you shipped for this trip.” 

“ So I did ; but I’m not going to help you 
grind that boy — not if I know myself, and I 
think I do,” answered the mate, in good, round, 
noble tones, which went to the right spot in my 
heart, and I wanted to applaud him, as I had 
heard the people do at the political meetings. 

“ Grind that boy ! What do you mean by 
that? ” inquired the skipper, with a sickly smile. 

“ I mean just what I say. It’s bad enough to 
have to see it done, without being called upon 
to take a hand in the business,” added Barnes ; 
and I could see that he had the sympathies of 
the crowd. 

“ God bless you, Jacob Barnes ! ” I wanted to 
say. The thought was in my heart, but I did 
not deem it prudent to utter a word. 

“ The boy is a young cub, and don’t mind,” 
pleaded the captain, who evidently did not wish 
to lose the mate. “ He’s a good-for-nothing 
young rascal, and wants to make all the trouble 
he can. He don’t know how to mind, and he 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


105 


won’t work unless you kick him. That’s the 
whole on’t.” 

“ I don’t want to come between you and the 
bo}-- ; but you licked him the first time for doing 
something without orders, and the next time for 
not doing anything without orders,” answered 
Barnes, very mildly, and not in the manner of 
a retort. “ I knew it’s none of my business ; at 
least, till you call upon me to help you grind 
the boy. I’ve got some bowels in my soul, and 
I don’t like that kind of a job.” 

“ Well, well, Barnes, you and I needn’t quar- 
rel about a little thing like this,” laughed Cap- 
tain Boomsby. “ I’ll take care of the boy after 
this, without any help from you. I rather think 
I can manage him alone ; ” and the tyrant 
glanced up at me. 

“ I don’t like to meddle with what don’t con- 
sarn me ; but that boy took hold sharp and 
smart, and I thought he was a good deal han- 
dier about a vessel than boys average. He went 
aloft, shook out that to ’gallant-sail as spry as 
ever I saw it* done. You can catch more flies 
with molasses than you can with vinegar, cap’n.” 

“ I ain’t in the fly-catching business just now, 
Barnes,” chuckled the captain. 


106 


GOING WEST, OR 


“ But you’re in sunthin’ a mighty sight smaller, 
and that’s grinding down a poor boy that hain’t 
got no one to stand up for him.” 

“ Come, Barnes, put away your traps, and we 
will get the vessel under way,” added the cap- 
tain, in a coaxing tone. “ I’ll tell you all about 
the boy when we have more time.” 

“ I shipped to help navigate the vessel, and I’m 
not going into the grindin’ business.” 

“ All right Barnes. We understand each other 
now,” continued the captain, in wheedling tones ; 
for, like other bullies, he had hardly a particle 
of self-respect. 

Jacob Barnes had a family to support, and I 
suppose he did not feel able to sacrifice his 
bread and butter to his humanity. Putting his 
overcoat and valise on the booby-hatch, he walked 
forward into the waist, and then looked at Cap- 
tain Boomsby for further orders. 

“ All ready to h’ist the jib ! ” said the skipper, 
comprehending the action of the mate. 

“ All ready,” replied Barnes. 

“ Cast off that hawser ! ” shouted the captain 
to the men on the wharf. — “ Come down here ! ” 
he added, turning to me. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


107 


He seemed to have forgotten me for the mo- 
ment ; but I concluded to obey this order, for 
I saw that he had no rope’s end in his hand. I 
leaped down upon the deck, and darted into 
the waist, before he had time to arm himself 
with another implement of torture. 

“ H’ist the jib ! ” shouted the skipper, taking 
no further notice of me. 

Captain Boomsby took the wheel, and I went 
forward to help hoist the jib. The breeze filled 
the sails of the Great West, and she stood out 
from the shore. 

“ Hi’st the flyin’-jib ! ” continued the captain, 
when the vessel was well clear of the wharf. 

I took my place with the men at the hal- 
yards, and hauled like a good fellow, for I was 
intent upon justifying the good opinion the mate 
had formed of me. Though I had hardly ex- 
pected Barnes to take any active part in my 
favor, after the vessel got out of the harbor, I 
felt that he was friendly to me, and that was a 
great deal, in my estimation. The captain soon 
called a sailor to take the helm, and I watched 
my tyrant’s movements with no little anxiety. 
However, I did not expect him to begin upon 


108 


GOING WEST, OR 


me immediately, for I thought respect for the 
opinion of the mate would keep him quiet until 
the vessel was in blue water, where it would be 
a serious affair to dispute any order of the 
master. On the high seas it would be mutiny 
to resist him ; and I had no doubt Captain 
Boomsby would break out again as soon as we 
were well off the land. 

“ Ready, about ! ” said the captain, when it 
became necessary to tack, in order to pass out 
through the narrow opening of the bay. 

My place was at the braces, and they led 
down the mainmast, so that I had to go upon 
the quarter-deck, where the tyrant stood. He 
scowled at me as I approached him, and I kept 
my weather eye wide open, on the lookout for 
squalls. 

“I’ll settle your case for you before you are 
many days older,” growled he, in a low tone. 

I made no reply, for nothing could be said to 
better my case. The prospect was very dark aud 
discouraging ; and the worst of it was, that I 
could not do anything to help myself. If I had 
done anything wrong, I would have confessed it, 
and begged my tyrant’s pardon. There was no 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


109 


way for me to make peace. I could only wait 
for whatever the future had in store for me, and 
then bear it with all the patience I could com- 
mand. The Great West went in stays, and then 
stood out to sea through the Gap. At noon 
Captain Boomsby went down into the cabin to 
dinner, leaving the mate in charge of the deck. 
I walked by him several times, hoping he would 
speak to me, for I felt that a single kind word 
would do me good ; but he did not notice me. 
At last I stepped up to him, and he could not 
help seeing that I had something to say to him. 
But he was a prudent man, and he attempted 
to avoid me. It was wrong in me to try to 
commit him to my side of the question ; but I 
did not understand the matter then as well as I 
do now, or I would not have done it. 

“ What shall I do ? ” I asked of him in a low 
tone. 

“ Run away the first chance you get,” replied 
he, with his hand over his mouth, as he turned 
and walked away from me, unwilling to con- 
tinue the conversation even a moment. 

I must do Jacob Barnes the justice to say that 
he had some knowledge of my case, and he 


no 


GOING WEST, OR 


understood it perfectly. He had given me bold 
advice, and his remedy for the ills of my situ- 
ation was rather startling. Strange as it may seem, 
I had never thought of it before ; at least, I had 
never given it any serious consideration. Run 
away ! Where should I run to ? Run away from 
Captain Boomsby ! What a daring deed it would 
be ! What if he should catch me ? The idea 
seemed too tremendous for me to master it. 
Was it possible that I could get away from my 
tyrants? that I could live in peace away from 
them ? I would at least think of it ; and I felt 
that if it was not the proper thing for me to 
do, Barnes would not have advised the step. 
The mate had sons and daughters of his own, 
and he would not be likely to give me bad 
advice. The idea of living away from Captain 
Boomsby and his wife, seemed to be too blissful 
a thought to be realized ; and I wondered what 
it would be like to live, even a single day, 
without being kicked and jawed from the rising 
to the setting of the sun. 

When the captain came on deck, I felt guilty. 
I had harbored a thought of treason against him, 
and I dared not look him in the face, lest he 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. Ill 

should suspect what was in my mind. Just at 
this moment the “ grub ” of the sailors was 
served out by the “ doctor,” and I was going 
forward to obtain my share. Here I secured 
enough to eat ; and this was to me the only 
advantage of going to sea. 

“ Sandy ! ” called the captain at this inter- 
esting moment. 

“ Sir ! ” I replied, respectfully. 

“ Come here ! ” 

I went there ; but I was careful not to go too 
near him. 

“ Take that swab, and wash up the quarter- 
deck,” said he ; and his eye twinkled with the 
malice that was in his heart. 

I had no alternative but to obey ; and I did 
obey. I worked two hours, swabbing up the 
decks. Dick Blister, who was tolerably sober 
by this time, attempted to help me ; but the 
skipper sternly ordered him forward. I had had 
but little breakfast that morning, and I was 
quite faint for the want of food. At last I 
finished the job ; or, at least, I stopped work 
when I had been over all the deck abaft the 
mainmast. Captain Boomsby was in the cabin 


112 GOING WEST, OE 

at the time, or, doubtless, he would have ordered 
me to swab the rest of the deck. Of course 
this was only a trick to cheat me out of my 
dinner. I went forward quite exhausted. 

“ Sandy,” whispered Dick Blister, as I ap- 
proached the little group of sailors on the fore- 
castle, “you’ll find some grub in your bunk.” 

“ Thank you, Dick,” I replied. 

“ Don’t let the old man see you eating it,” 
added he, cautiously. 

“ I won’t.” 

I went to the house on deck, and in my berth 
I found a large junk of corned beef and half a 
dozen sea-biscuit, which Dick had saved for 
me. Seating myself on the deck, I gave myself 
up to the delightful occupation of filling my 
empty stomach. Only one who has been half 
starved, as I had been, can appreciate my satis- 
faction. I was so pleasantly employed that I for- 
got the promise I had made to Dick, and ignored 
the fact that it was a crime for me to eat my 
dinner on that particular occasion. Suddenly the 
door of the forecastle was darkened, and Cap- 
tain Boomsby stood before me. 


THE PERHiS OF A POOR BOY. 


113 


CHAPTER X. 

A NIGHT IN THE HOLD. 

F ortunately, i had eaten aii i could 

of the beef and bread when my tyrant 
opened the door, which I had taken the pre- 
caution to close, so that, whatever else he did, 
he could not rob me of my dinner. This was a 
great consolation to me, though I hope the reader 
will not think I was a glutton because I have 
had so much to say about my food, or rather 
about the want of it. With a growing boy, 
hunger is the great affliction of life, and I had 
been a constant sufferer. Captain Boomsby 
looked very ugly as he confronted me. 

“ What are you doing in here ? ” demanded 
he. 

“ Eating my dinner,” I replied, trembling in 
my shoes. 

“ How come that grub in here ? ” was the next 
conundrum he proposed. (8) 


114 


GOING WEST. OR 


I could not guess it. It would have been 
meaner than toad-pie to betray Dick Blister, on 
the one hand, and I was not willing to lie, on 
the other. I repeat that I was above the mean- 
ness of lying. It was not virtue ; it was an in- 
born hatred of the vile and low ; and as I knew 
nothing whatever about my parents, I have no 
idea where I got it. I made no reply to the 
hard inquisitor, but I looked out for the best 
way to escape from his presence. The situation 
was not very hopeful, for he stood between me 
and the door. 

“ Why don’t you answer me, you villain ? ” 
said he, savagely. “Are you dumb?” 

“ No, sir, I’m not dumb,” I answered, rather 
to say something than to meet the question. 

“ Answer me, then.” 

“ I haven’t anything to say.” 

“ I’ll find something for you to say, then,’? he 
added, fiercely, looking about him. 

I understood that he wanted a rope’s end; 
but, fortunately, there was nothing of the kind 
in the forecastle, and when he retreated to the 
deck to find what he sought for, I jumped up 
and crawled out at one of the windows. He saw 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 115 

me as soon as I touched the planks, and rushed 
towards me. I ran aft, and succeeded in keeping 
out of his way. I Avent for the main-rigging, 
and, leaping upon the rail, I scampered up the 
ratlines. When I Was in a safe position, I 
stopped, and contemplated the scene beloAV me. 
When I was surprised by the captain, I had a 
piece of beef in one hand, and a biscuit in the 
other. Involuntarily I had thrust the food into 
my pockets, as I got out the window. I had 
nothing better to do in my present situation than 
to finish my dinner, for the captain did not at- 
tempt to follow me, knowing very well that he 
might as well chase a streak of lightning. I 
took out my beef and bread, and began to eat 
them. Of course, this act aggravated him ; but 
I saw that the mate and the other hands were 
amused by it. 

“ Come down, you rascal !” shouted the skip- 
per. 

“No, I thank you,” I responded. 

“ Won’t you !” and he turned upon his heel, 
and went down into the cabin. 

In a few moments, he returned with his gun 
in his hand. The situation Avas beginning to 


116 


GOING WEST, OR 


look serious, for the captain was a noted gunner, 
and had the reputation of being a dead shot. I 
deemed it prudent to go up higher, and I soon 
placed myself at the mast-head. I confess that 
I was alarmed, for, hard as my lot was, I had 
no taste for being shot. I saw Barnes walk up 
to my tyrant ; I could not hear what he said to 
him, but I judged, by the shaking of his head, 
that he was remonstrating with him. I could not 
make out the reply of the captain any better, 
but he immediately pointed the gun at me. 

“ Come down ! ” shouted he. “ Come down, 
or I’ll shoot you ! ” 

But before he had got the words out of his 
mouth, I had placed the mast between myself 
and him. He retreated towards the taffrail, 
stiU pointing the gun in the direction of my 
locality. Somehow I did not believe that he 
would dare to shoot me, and he often threatened 
me with terrible things, so that I did not take 
much stock in his threats. Besides, I did not 
believe that the mate would let him do such 
a deed. He was not afraid of him, however 
it may have been with the rest of us. 

Like an ostrich in the desert, I kept myself 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 117 

where I could not see him, and this satisfied me 
that he could not see me. Well, we played this 
game for half an hour, and the gun was not 
discharged; the captain did not get a sight of 
me. The crew were rather chuckling at the 
fun, and the skipper became Aveary of the game. 
Seating himself on the companion-way, with his 
gun in his hand, he appeared to be watching 
his opportunity, which I was careful not to 
afford him. 

The result was, that I remained in the rigging 
all tlie afternoon, though not in one place, for I 
deemed it prudent to keep the mast between us. 
After supper, the captain, perhaps fearing that 
the night air would injure his gun, carried it into 
the cabin. As he did not return to the deck, I 
made haste to descend from my lofty perch. 

“ Bully for you ! ” exclaimed Dick Blister, 
slapping me on the back. “You didn’t blow on 
me, and I’ve saved some supper for you. You 
will find it in the bunk in the forecastle.” 

“ Thank you, Dick,” I added, feeling very 
grateful to him for his kindness. 

He followed me into the forecastle, keeping 
an eye on the cabin door to make sure that the 
captain did not surprise me again. 


118 


GOING WEST, OR 


“ I wouldn’t eat it here,” said Dick. 

“ Where shall I eat it ? ” I asked. 

“ Come with me ; ” and he led the way to the 
fore-scuttle, just abaft the bowsprit bits. The 
sailors were all in the waist, so that they did 
not see us. Dick raised the scuttle. 

“Jump down,” said he, excitedly; and I 
promptly obeyed him. “ Go well aft, and hide 
yourself.” 

“ But how long shall I stay in the hold ? ” I 
asked, wishing to obtain a better idea of Dick’s 
plan, so that I might not get him into any 
trouble, for I had the feeling that it was better 
to be shot than betray a friend who had aided 
me. 

“ Till we get to New York,” he replied, has- 
tily. “ I will see that you have grub enough.” 

“ I’m very much obliged to you, Dick,” I 
added, wondering why he risked his own head 
for my sake. 

“ Never mind that,” said he, hurriedly. “ Now 
go aft, and stow yourself away as well as you 
can, for the old man may be down to look after 
you in the course of half an hour.” 

He closed the scuttle, and I was in the dark- 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


119 


ness, which was only slightly relieved by the 
light coming through the cracks of the scuttle 
and the main hatch. But after I had been in 
the hold a few moments, I could see well enough 
to move aft, as the hatch was not secured for 
bad weather. The hold was about half filled 
with barrels of mackerel, and packages of salt 
fish. Where the pumps extended down into the 
well, an opening had been left, through which I 
crawled down, till I came to the ballast. The 
dead odors of the fish and the bilge water would 
have choked a fastidious person ; but I was used 
to this sort of thing, and did not mind it much. 

After a careful survey of the place, I found 
that I could make my way forward in a kind of 
channel which had been left over the keelson, to 
permit the water, coming into the vessel through 
any leak, to flow aft into the well. It was not 
a pleasant place in which to spend three or 
four days, or possibly a week ; but to me it was 
better than being pounded half to death. I 
ate my supper in peace, and in almost total 
darkness. On board the Great West, the bill of 
fare was always substantially the same — beef 
and bread. But I was satisfied with this, if I 


120 


GOING WEST, OR 


could get enough of it. When I had finished 
the meal, I stretched myself on the packages of 
salt fish, as forming the softest bed, and gave 
myself up to my own thoughts. I chose a place 
near the well, so that in case a search for me 
was ordered, I could escape to my den on the 
keelson. 

I had a plenty of time to think, and I gave 
myself to a consideration of the plan of running 
away from my tormentors. It was quite im- 
possible to endure life, as it had been for the last 
week, and I was satisfied with any change that 
could be made. I was confident that I could 
find work of some kind, which would enable me 
to earn my daily bread. For two or three years, 
I had heard a great deal about the great west, 
— not the vessel of that name, but the vast 
region beyond the Alleghany mountains. Cap- 
tain Boomsby and his wife had often talked 
about it, for he desired to sell out all that he 
had in the east, and remove to the new country, 
where he was assured he could make his fortune. 
I had heard others speak in glowing terms of the 
western Land of Promise, where Indian corn was 
so plenty that it was used for fuel, — which seemed 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


121 


a shameful waste to me. I was strong and hearty 
— too hearty for the diet allowance — and I was 
sure I could earn a better living than my tyrants 
were willing to give me. I must go to the 
great west ! I must realize the dream of Cap- 
tain Boomsby even before he attempted to do 
so himself. If the west was a good place for 
him, it was a good place for me. At any rate, 
for the present, if I went there, it would put a 
long distance between him and me ; and this was 
what I desired more than anything else. 

How I was to get there was a question I 
could not answer ; but I knew that if I kept 
walking towards the setting sun, I should reach 
my destination in time, though it might be ^ 
very long time. However, my first and principal 
business was to get out of my present scrape. 
I felt reasonably secure in my hiding-place ; for 
when a search was made for me, I could retreat 
to my hole under the cargo, where I knew that 
the skipper could not follow me. While I was 
thinking of the situation, I dropped asleep. 

My bed of fish was very hard, though scarcely 
more so than the one on which I slept at home ; 
and being very tired, I did not wake during the 


122 


GOING WEST, on 


whole night. When my senses came back to me, 
I saw the light through the cracks between the 
hatch and the coamings thereof, and I knew it 
was daylight, for the hold was as dark as Egypt 
when I went to sleep. The Great West was 
jumping like a galloping steed, and I realized 
that it was blowing very hard. Occasionally she 
heeled down till I was afraid the cargo would 
shift, and bury me beneath its weight. My 
first care, therefore, was to secure a safe position, 
far up on the weather side. 

An hour later, a sudden flood of light pene- 
trated the forward part of the hold, and as sud- 
denly disappeared. I understood from this that 
the scuttle had been raised, and I crawled 
towards the bow, to see if Dick was waiting to 
communicate with me. But I heard nothing of 
him, and the door was not again raised. On the 
barrels under the opening, I found a large quan- 
tity of beef and hard tack, wrapped up in an 
old newspaper. Even with my ravenous appetite, 
there was enough to last me all day ; and I was 
afraid my confederate had been overdoing the 
matter. Certainly, there was provender enough 
for the breakfast of all the sailors. I concluded 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


123 


that Dick must have bribed the “ doctor ” in 
order to obtain this large supply. I ate all I 
wanted, and put the rest in a safe place. 

By this time I had become so accustomed to 
the dim light of the hold, that I could see tol- 
erably well. I made a careful survey of my 
prison, for such it was, though my confinement 
was voluntary. About one half the height of 
the cabin was below the deck, and the other 
half was raised above the deck in the trunk — it 
was a trunk cabin. From the forward part of 
it, a door, not more than four feet in height, 
led into the hold. It was very seldom opened. 
But now I was in momentary expectation of 
seeing Captain Boomsby present himself at this 
aperture ; indeed, I could not understand why 
he had not already done so. While I lay on 
the fish, near the well, ready to retreat as soon 
as it should be necessary, the fore-scuttle was 
again opened, and then instantly closed. I was 
presently aware that some one had descended 
into the hold ; but I was confident that it was 
not the captain, for he would not close the 
scuttle behind him. 


124 


GOING WEST, OR 


CHAPTER XI. 

SHORT-HANDED. 

T HEARD footsteps on the barrels, near the 
forward part of the vessel. It was not easy 
to walk while the schooner was pitching so 
heavily, and the person who was approaching 
me did not “ make very good weather ” of it. 
I could just distinguish a form in the gloom, 
but I could not determine who it was. Just as 
I was about to seek safety in my lower den, the 
person spoke, . and recognizing the voice, I 
waited his coming. 

“Sandy,” called Dick, — for it was he, — 
“ where are you ? ” 

“ Here I am,” I replied. 

“ Where ? ” demanded he. I can’t see a thing 
down here. It’s darker than ten thousand black 
cats.” 

“You will be able to see in a few minutes, 
when you get a little used to it.” 


THE PERILS OP A POOR BOY. 


125 


“ I don’t think I should like to live down 
here more than a week,” added Dick, groping 
his 'way towards the place where I was seated. 

“ I like it better than being pounded with a 
rope’s end. What’s the news on deck, Dick?” 
I asked, wondering that no search had yet been 
made for me, though I thought it possible that 
the heavy weather had prevented it. 

“ Great news, Sandy,” chuckled Dick. “ The 
old man thinks you have tumbled overboard, or 
committed suicide, because he used you so bad. 
He looks as blue as a red herring.” 

“ What makes him think I fell overboard ? ” 

“ I guess the mate told him so ; at any rate, 
Barnes is as much tickled as any of us. He 
hates the old man worse than poison, and he 
would fight your battle, if it were safe for him 
to do so.” 

“ Barnes is a good fellow, and I don’t want 
him to hurt himself for my sake.” 

“ He knows enough to take care of himself,” 
laughed Dick. “We have all told lies enough 
to load a schooner, if every one was a barrel 
of mackerel.” 

“ I don’t want you to do ^that,' I added, not 


126 


GOING WEST, OR 


wishing to have these falsehoods on my con- 
science, for just then it seemed to me that I 
was responsible for them. 

“ What do you want, Sandy ? Shall we tell 
him you are in the hold ? ” asked my confeder- 
ate, apparently not pleased with my remark. 

“ I’m very much obliged to you, Dick, for all 
you have done ; and I shall never forget it,” I 
continued, warmly ; “ and I’m only sorry to 
oblige you to tell so many lies for me.” 

“ Don’t worry about them ; it’s nothing but 
fun to cheat the old man.” 

“ Do all the men know where I am ? ” 

“ Every one of them.” 

“ Where did you get such a lot of grub ? ” 

“ The doctor boiled a double quantity this 
morning, on purpose for you.” 

“ I didn’t think he liked me well enough to do 
that,” I answered, astonished to find that I had 
so many friends, and especially to learn that the 
cook was one of them, for he had been rather 
noted, in former voyages, for taking sides with 
the captain against me, when there was any 
trouble. 

“ You are the bottom dog just now, Sandy; 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 127 

and all the men are on your side ; so that it 
was not exactly safe for him to do any other 
way.” 

“ He will tell the captain where I am.” 

“I should like to see him do it.” 

“ I shouldn’t.” 

“ He won’t dare to do it.” 

“Well, I hope he won’t.” 

“ Don’t you worry about that, Sandy,” said 
Dick, confidently. “ The doctor is more afraid 
of Barnes than he is of the old man ; and he 
won’t go back on him, if he does on you.” 

“ Hasn’t the captain asked about me, or tried 
to find me ? ” I asked, beginning to think I was 
a person of even less consequence than I had 
supposed. 

“ Asked about you ! ” exclaimed Dick. “ I’ll 
bet he has.” 

“ When did he first miss me ? ” I inquired. 

“ The old man must have turned in as soon 
as he ate his supper,” replied Dick, “ for he did 
not come on deck till eight bells, when our 
v'atch went below. Then Barnes told him you 
hadn’t been on deck all the evening, and he 
couldn’t find anything of you. The old man 


128 


GOING WEST, OR 


seemed to be a good deal struck up, and wanted 
to know what had become of you. Barnes didn’t 
know, and of course I didn’t ; but I said I had 
heard a splash in the water. He wanted to know 
why I hadn’t given the alarm, or said something 
about it. I told him I didn’t think anything of 
it at the time, or till I found that you were 
missing. I said that I didn’t know but that 
Sandy might be in the cabin, as he was a mem- 
ber of the skipper’s family.” 

“ That was rather thin, Dick,” I suggested. 

“ I don’t know but it was,” laughed Dick ; 
“ at any rate the old man was scared ; and that 
was all I wanted.” 

“ But what’s to come of all this, Dick ? ” I 
asked anxiously. 

“ When we get to New York, you can go 
ashore as soon as the old man is out of sight. 
Then you can take care of yourself — can’t 
you ? ” 

“ If I can get anything to do, I can.” 

“ O, well, you can get enough to do,” said 
Dick, cheerfully ; and as the case was mine, ana 
not his, he could afford to be cheerful. 

“ Is the captain on deck this morning ? ” 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


129 


“Yes; it’s his watch now, you know, or I 
couldn’t get off. It’s blowing pretty heavy, but 
we’re logging over ten knots, and we shall make 
a short run of it at this rate.” 

“ The shorter the better.” 

“ The old man says we are going to have a 
big gale — a reg’lar muzzier ; and it looks like it, 
I can tell you.” 

“ Don’t the captain say anything about me 
this morning ? ” I asked, curiously. 

“ I haven’t heard him say anything ; but he 
was talking to Barnes for a long time after 
breakfast,” answered Dick, rising to go. 

“If anything turns up, let me know — will 
you, Dick ? ” 

“I will, Sandy,” he replied, going forward to 
the scuttle. 

I followed him as far as the foremast, and saw 
him raise the door. As he did so, a huge wave 
boarded the forward part of the vessel, and 
poured down the aperture into the hold. The 
scuttle seemed to be wrenched from Dick’s grasp, 
and I heard a sharp cry from him, as though 
the sea had carried him violently down to lee- 
ward. For aught I knew he might have washed 
9 


130 


GOING WEST, OR 


overboard. I felt that I liad a duty to perform, 
whether I was seen by the captain or not. I 
leaped up through the scuttle-hole, covered the 
opening, and hastened to the assistance of my 
companion. The sea had carried liim very rudely 
against the bulwarks, and disabled him ; at least 
for the n^oment, though I hoped that he was 
not seriously injured. I picked him up, and 
dragged him into the house on deck, the door 
of which was just abaft the foremast. Though 
the captain was on the quarter-deck, I was con- 
fident that he did not see me, because the 
house Avas between him and me. By this time 
Dick appeared to be able to help himself, and I 
assisted him to get into his bunk. 

“ Are you hurt, Dick ? ” I asked anxiously. 

“ Not much, I guess,” he replied, somewhat 
feebly. “1 got a hard crack on the head — 
that’s all, I believe.” 

Before he or I had time to say any more, the 
mate and a seaman rushed into the forecastle ; 
but as the captain did not come with them, I 
concluded that he had not observed the accident. 

“ What’s the matter ? ” demanded Barnes. 

“ A sea took me off my legs, and spilled me 


THE PERILS OP A POOR BOY. 


131 


over to leeward,” groaned Dick, evidently in 
great pain. i 

“ Where are you hurt ? ” continued the mate, 
with much feeling. 

“ My head feels better ; but I believe my ribs 
are stove in,” answered the sufferer, with an 
effort. 

“ On deck, there ! ” yelled the captain from 
the waist. 

“ Tumble into a bunk, and keep out of sight 
for a while,” said Barnes, turning to me. “ Don’t 
let the captain see you just yet ; but I don’t 
think we can get along without you much longer, 
for it’s beginning to blow great guns, and Dick’s 
used up.” 

“ I’ll do anything you say, Mr. Barnes,” I 
responded. “ I suppose the captain will kill me 
when he sees me.” 

“ No he won’t. Don’t you be alarmed.” 

I hastened to obey the mate, in substance, 
though, instead of tumbling into one of the 
bunks, where the skipper might discover me if 
he came into the forecastle, I crawled under one 
of the spare berths, where he could not see me 
without placing his head quite near the deck. 

“ What are you about here ? ” demanded 


132 


GOING WEST, OB 


Captain Boomsby, angrily, as he confronted the 
mate at the door of the forecastle. 

“ Attending to the wounded,” replied Barnes, 
coldly. “ Dick Blister was knocked against the 
bulwarks by that sea, which boarded us forward 
just now ; and I’m afraid he’s badly hurt.” 

“ Another hand lost ! ” exclaimed the captain, 
evidently troubled by this reduction of the 
working force of the vessel. “ Sandy lost over- 
board, and Blister disabled ! ” 

“ That’s just how we stand,” added the mate : 
“only Jones and Gillfield are left.” 

“ The gale is freshening every moment, and 
we ought to have shortened sail before, as I 
should have done if I had supposed we were 
short-handed ; but it is time we were about it,” 
said Captain Boomsby. 

I noticed that the schooner was still carrying 
all sail, when I was on deck, and she was mak- 
ing very heavy weather of it. It was clear to 
me that the storm was increasing in violence 
more rapidly than the captain had anticipated. 
And now the vessel was laboring badly in the 
heavy sea. I had noticed, when I was on deck, 
that the top-gallant sail had not been furled, and 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


133 


it occurred to me that I should not have been 
surprised if the captain had lost his top-mast. 
I judged by the tones of the skipper, that he 
was somewhat worried by the situation, as I 
thought he had good reason to be, for Jones and 
Gillfield, though they were able seamen, were 
too old to be very efficient, and were seldom 
required to go aloft. Captain Boomsby believed 
in cheap help, and Dick and I were depended 
upon to do all the light work above the deck. 

“ Let go the to-’gallant sheets ! ” I heard the 
capain yell, a moment later, in the waist. “ Clew 
up!” 

As Gillfield was at the helm, I concluded that 
Jones had executed this order, if it was executed 
at all. He was stiff and heavy with rheumatism, 
and no more fit to go to sea, than he was to 
“ walk a thousand miles in a thousand hours.” 
Presently I judged, by the. feeling of the vessel 
under me, that the 'helm had been put down, 
and then I heard a roaring sea break in over 
the weather bow, which was followed by a fear- 
ful yell from the captain. 

“ Sandy 1 ” shouted the mate. 

I crawled out of my hiding-place and hastened 
on deck. 


134 


GOING WEST, OR 


CHAPTER XII. 


THE MATE EXPRESSES HIMSELF. 

S I had suspected, the captain had ordered 



r\ the helm to be put down, when a heavy 
flaw came, and as the Great West threw her 
head up into the wind, a big wave had spilled 
itself on the forecastle, and knocked poor old 
Jones off his pins, while he was trying to clew 
up the top-gallant sail. Barnes had gone to his 
assistance, and I instantly joined him. We bore 
the old man to the forecastle, and placed him in 
his bunk. He groaned heavily, but complained 
of no particular injury, only of a general shaking 
up of his bones. As he was in the habit of 
groaning a great' deal, on even a small provo- 
cation, we formed no judgment of his case, from 
the noise he made. 

“ Come, Sandy ; we must get those topsails in, 
or the masts will be taken out of her,” said 
Barnes, hastening on deck. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 135 

I followed him, and together we clewed up 
the topsails. By this time Captain Boomsby had 
taken the helm, and sent Gillfield forward. 

“ Now, Sandy, can you go aloft and furl the 
to ’-gallant sail ? ” asked the mate. 

“ Certainly I can,” I replied, cheerfully ; “ that’s 
what I’m for.” 

I ran up the fore rigging with all the haste 
I could make, and Barnes followed me, instead 
of sending Gillfield, to furl the topsail. I was 
quite at home on the yard, even when it was 
blowing very fresh, and in a few minutes I had 
carefully secured the sail for the coming storm. 
Sliding down the halyard to the topsail-yard, I 
helped the mate furl the topsail. It was not 
an easy job for a man and a boy ; but in time 
we accomplished it. While we were thus engaged, 
Gillfield, by the order of the captain, had 
hauled down the flying-jib ; and the vessel, thus 
relieved, went along considerably easier. We 
laid down from aloft, and both of us went into 
the forecastle to ascertain the condition of the 
sufferers. Gillfield was called to the helm again, 
and presently the captain joined us. 

“Where have you been, Sandy?” demanded 


136 


GOING WEST, OB 


he, as savagely as though he had been under 
no appreliension concerning me ; and I am not 
sure that he had suffered any anxiety on my 
account. 

“ In the hold, sir,” I replied, placing myself 
in such a position that I could escape in case he 
attempted to flog me. 

“ Skulking from your duty,” growled he, scowl- 
ing at me. “ All these things have got to be 
settled up, before I’ve done with you.” 

He and the mate examined into the condition 
of Jones and Dick Blister. It was npt thought 
that either of them was seriously injured, though 
both declared they were unfit for duty. 

“ Ain’t Dick shamming ? ” suggested Captain 
Boomsby, as we all left the forecastle. 

“ I don’t think he is,” answered the mate. 

“ It’s just like him ; he’s smart when he’s 
half full of rum, but he’s a lazy dog when he’s 
sober.” 

“ Dick’s better than they average ; but Sandy’s 
worth two of him,” added the mate, maliciously, 
I thought. 

“ Humph ! ” grunted the captain, scowling at 
me, as though I had praised myself, instead of 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


137 


another praising me. “ Do you want to spoil 
the boy, Barnes ? Don’t get off any such talk 
before him, if you don’t.” 

“ I’m inclined to think he isn’t fed with much 
of that kind of talk ; and a little on’t won’t 
hurt a boy, especially if he’s as smart as Sandy 
is.” 

“You keep it a-going! I tell you, I don’t 
want such talk before the boy. It ain’t true. 
The boy isn’t smart, only when he’s a mind to 
be. He skulked off last night, and didn’t show 
himself again till this morning. Who said he 
was lost overboard ? ” 

“ Nobody said so. Dick said he heard a 
splash in the water ; and I think it’s very likely 
he did,” replied the mate, indifferently. 

“ Sandy,” said the skipper, turning sharply to 
me. 

“ Sir.” 

“ Did the hands know you were in the hold ? ” 

I made no reply. 

“ Do you hear me ? ” 

“ I hear you,” I replied, in a respectful tone. 

“ Answer me then.” 

I was still silent. 


138 


GOING WEST, OR 


“ Have you lost your tongue, you villain ? ” 
roared the captain, looking about him, apparently 
for a rope to enforce his authority. 

The one he had used the day before was un- 
fortunately at hand, and he picked it up. I 
began to retreat, but my tyrant was too quick 
for me this time, and before I could get out of 
the way, I felt the rope on my back and shoul- 
ders, cutting into my flesh, just where it had 
lacerated me before. At the same time he seized 
me by the collar, and held me so that I could 
not escape. 

I felt that I was to receive a brutal pounding ; 
but sometimes things turn out differently from 
what we expect, as it happened in this instance, 
very much to my satisfaction. 

“ Hold on. Captain Boomsby ! ” yelled Barnes, 
shaking his clinched flst in the face .of my perse- 
cutor. “ Hit that boy again, and I’ll hit you, 
if I have to hang for it.” 

There could be no doubt that the mate was 
in earnest ; and the captain suspended opera- 
tions. He looked at Barnes, and I saw that 
his lip quivered with fear, or some other emo- 
tion. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 139 

“ This is mutiny ! ” gasped the captain. 

“ I don’t care what it is,” replied Barnes. 
“ If you touch him again, I’ll knock you into 
the middle of next month, and take the conse- 
quences, whatever they may be.” 

“ This is mutiny,” repeated the captain, appar- 
ently because he had nothing else to say. 

“ You said that- before,” added the mate, 
quietly. “ Don’t you strike that boy again.” 

“ Do you command this vessel, or do I ? ” 

“ That depends upon circumstances. If you 
give that boy another blow, you will not com- 
mand anything more than five seconds longer. I 
can’t stand this thing any longer, and I won’t. 
The boy has done better than nine out of ten 
would do ; and I won’t stand by and see him 
abused.” 

“ This case must be settled in court,” said 
Captain Boomsby, releasing his hold of me, in 
evident disgust. 

“ I don’t care a straw where it’s settled ; but 
as long as I stand on my pins, this thing shall 
go no further.” 

“ Will you justify that boy in hiding in the 
hold, skulking from his duty ? ” demanded the 


140 


GOING WEST, OR 


captain, who seemed disposed to argue the mat- 
ter. 

“ Yes, I will,” answered the mate, squarely 
and doggedly. “You chased him with your gun, 
and he hid in the hold, to keep from being 
shot. You know, as well as I do, that the mas- 
ter of a vessel has no right to shoot one of his 
crew.” 

“ I told you at the time of it that the gun 
was not loaded,” pleaded the captain ; and he 
answered more like a culprit than as the supe- 
rior officer, for guilt “ makes cowards of us all.” 

“ Sandy didn’t know that the gun was not 
loaded, so it was all the same to him.” 

“ You know very well, that I didn’t intend to 
shoot him.’ 

“ It was an assault with a deadly weapon ; and 
you told the boy you would shoot him. He had 
a right to suppose you meant just what you 
said ; and if this case is going into court, every 
man on board will testify that you flogged the 
.boy for nothing, and abused him badly. I think 
Sandy has the best case.” 

“ I suppose he has, if you all mean to side 
with him,” growled the captain ; but not a little 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


141 


of the bully spirit seemed to be taken out of 
him. 

“ All we want is the truth and fair play,” 
added the mate. 

“You don’t know the boy as well as I do.” 

“You licked him for nothing yesterday, and 
that was enough to place the men on his side. 
I can swear that Sandy obeyed every order that 
was given to him, promptly, and did his work 
well ; and if we are going to court, I should 
like to swear to it.” 

“ You haven’t seen as much of him as I 
have.” 

“ I have seen enough of him to convince me 
that, with any sort of fair play, he will be a 
good and smart fellow.” 

“ Captain Boomsby, I’m willing to do my 
work, and obey all orders,” I ventured to inter- 
pose, for I desired to set myself right before the 
mate, though I did not believe that anything I 
might say would have any influence upon my 
tyrant. 

“ I don’t care what you are willing to do,’' 
retorted the master of the Great West, in the 
most ungracious of tones, and in the most surly 


142 


GOING WEST, OR 


manner. “ You will do what you’re told to do, 
whether you are willing or not.” 

After this rebuff I did not deem it prudent to 
say anything more. Turning on my heel, I 
started to walk forward. 

“ Stop, Sandy ! ” sternly called the captain, 
perhaps hoping that I would not obey, and thus 
proving what he had said. 

“ Sir,” I replied, returning to the place where 
he stood. 

“ If you think you have seen the end of this, 
you were never more mistaken in your life,” 
growled the skipj)er. “ As near as I can make 
it out, you have got on the right side of the 
mate and the men, and 3^011 have hatched up a 
conspiracy against me. I don’t know how 
you’ve done it, and I don’t care. But if we 
ever get into port, things will be different, I 
can tell you ! There will be a new deal about 
that time.” 

“ I shall do my duty as well as I know how,” 
I answered. * 

“Go forward, you villain! ” he replied, point- 
ing towards the bow, with as much vim as 
though I had actually refused to obey him. 


THE PERILS OP A POOR BOY. 


143 


I walked forward. That was the kind of a 
man Captain Boomsby was. He seemed to be 
angry because I would give him no provocation 
for abusing me — or, at least, except that of 
escaping when he struck me and threatened to 
shoot me. Barnes talked with him a while longer, 
but the conversation did not seem to be very 
animated, and I thought it likely they w^re 
patching up a peace, for the captain was wily 
enough to keep on the right side of a man whom 
he feared. I was satisfied that the case would 
never go into the courts ; the captain had law 
enough in the trial of my case in the court in 
Glossenbury. He would punish the mate by 
cheating him out of his wages, or by some other 
mean trick, and me by beating or starving me 
at some convenient time, when no powerful 
friend was at hand to take my part. 

I assure my sympathizing reader that my only 
fault or sin, was in turning the tables upon his 
son Nick, in self-defence. I had done absolutely 
nothing to deserve a blow, or even a word of 
reproach. My tyrant was punishing me for 
proving that Nick was a thief, though his son 
had confessed the crime. Presently the mate 


144 


GOING WEST, OR 


came forward, and I spoke to him about the 
matter, for I wanted his advice. 

“What can I do, Mr. Barnes?” I asked. 

“ 1 don’t see that you can do anything, San- 
dy,” he replied. “You have behaved very well, 
but if you had shied a belaying-pin at his head, 
I don’t know as I should have blamed you very 
much, though I don’t think that’s always the 
best way to do in such cases.” 

“ 1 wouldn’t do that,” I added. “ I don’t 
think I’ve done anything to deserve' a whipping 
or a jawing.” ' • 

“I guess he won’t meddle with you again on 
this voyage ; and as soon as the vessel gets to 
New York, why, all you’ve got to do is to look 
out for yourself,” said the mate, significantly. 
“ If you are ever caught in such a scrape again, 
it will be your own fault — that’s all.” 

I understood him perfectly, and his words gave 
me new strength and courage. I thought if I 
did not know what to do when I got to New 
York, it would not be the mate’s fault. 


THE PERELS OF A POOR BOY. 


-145 


CHAPTER XIII. 

A HEAVY BLOW. 

T he gale increased in violence every moment, 
till the Great West labored as badly as 
before her topsails had been furled ; and the 
captain gave the order to take in the foresail. 
By calling in the doctor, who is liable to do 
duty on deck when occasion requires, and luffing 
up the vessel, we got the sail in without diffi- 
culty. I visited the sufferers in the forecastle, 
and found them both more comfortable, though 
they were in great pain. As the schooner was 
going along tolerably easy now, Barnes brought 
some liniment from the cabin, and while he 
attended to the case of Jones, I rubbed the 
aching bones of Dick Blister. But neither of 
them was able to leave his bunk that day. The 
mate told me that the captain asked him several 
times, if the sufferers were not shamming. 

10 


146 


GOING WEST, OR 


“ That man has no more soul in his carcass 
than there is in a brickbat,” added Barnes, with 
disgust apparent on his honest face. “ He be- 
lieves that all the rest of the folks in the world 
live for the sole purpose of cheating him.” 

“ I know it ; and he don’t give anybody 
credit for honesty,” I replied. “ I have heard 
/ him tell his wife, that he didn’t believe there 
was an honest man in the world, except him- 
self.” 

“Except himself!” exclaimed the mate, smil- 
ing at the absurdity of the proposition. 

“ That’s the biggest fraud of the whole.” 

“ That’s so ; but his wife’s worse than he i^ 
himself, if that’s possible.” 

“ Hardly possible, I should say.” 

“ There is more vinegar in her, any way.” 

“ Sandy ! ” shouted Captain Boomsby, at thio 
point of the conversation. 

I hastened aft at the call. I think that the 
captain, seeing Barnes and me talking together, 
suspected that our conversation related to him. 

“ Here, sir,” I answered, reporting to him. 

“ Take the helm,” said the skipper, crustily. 

“ That boy ? ” said old Gillfield, interrogatively. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 147 

“ I don’t believe he’s stout enough to handle 
the wheel while it blows as hard as it does 
now.” 

“ Give him the wheel, you old fool ! ” roared 
the captain. “ I believe this crew is in a state 
of mutiny. If I give an order, somebody has 
something to say, or wants to dispute it.” 

“ I don’t want to dispute you. Captain Boomsby, 
or make any talk ; but I didn’t think you knew 
Just how hard the vessel steers, in this gale — 
that’s all,” answered the old man, giving th^ 
wheel to me. 

“ Mind what you’re about, Sandy,” added th^j 
captain. 

“ I’ll do the best I can,” I replied, struggling 
to throw the wheel over, so as to keep the vessel 
from coming up into the wind. 

“ If you let her come too, I’U give you the 
rope’s end ! ” stormed the tyrant. 

With wind in the quarter, blowing a gale, the 
Great West carried a strong weather helm. I 
exerted my utmost strength, but it was not 
enough ; and when the craft once got the better 
of me, it was utterly impossible for me to hold 
her. Suddenly the wheel flew over, and knocked 


148 


GOING WEST, OR 


me down to leeward. The vessel broached too, 
the jib and mainsail shaking in the furious blast. 
She worked very lively in the gale ; and when 
she got to swinging she did not seem to be in- 
clined to stop, but turned till she took the wind 
on the starboard side, so that her jib filled on 
the other tack, which helped her around at a 
rapid rate. Just as I was trying to pick myself 
up, the mainsail went over with tremendous 
force. The captain had been talking for some 
time of having a new main sheet, for the old 
one was rotten and shaky. He now received the 
penalty of his neglect, — or mine, as he would 
certainly insist, — for the rope snapped as though 
it had been a piece of woollen yarn, when the 
boom bore upon it. The helm was hard up, 
and the schooner continued to swing, till she 
was on the other tack, and then the boom went 
over again. 

The captain was evidently alarmed, and did 
not know what to do. The wheel spun around 
as though it were geared to a steam engine. 
Barnes came running aft, but it was as much as 
his life was worth to touch the wheel before it 
was entirely over ; and the mate, keeping himself 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 149 

in a safe position, awaited the captain’s orders. 
None were given, however ; and again the vessel 
whirled about, and the boom banged over against 
the main rigging. 

“ What’s to be done?” screamed the mate, in 
order to make himself heard above the noise of 
the thrashing sail. 

This seemed to be a conundrum which Cap- 
tain Boomsby was not able to answer, and he 
made no reply. In the mean time the situation 
was becoming worse and worse. The blasts of 
wind came more fiercely than ever ; and when, 
for the fourth time, the boom went over, the 
mainsail was split, up and down, in the middle, 
for a distance of twenty feet. 

“ Why don’t you do something, Barnes ? ” asked 
the captain, trembling with terror, and entirely 
upset by the calamity to the mainsail. 

“You told me you were the master of this 
vessel,” replied the mate, coolly. “ I’m ready 
to obey orders.” 

“ What’s best to be done ? ” demanded the 
skipper, desperately. “ Do anything you think 
best,” he added, as a fierce blast completed the 
ruin of the mainsail, and carried more than half 
of it out of the bolt-ropes. 


150 


GOING WEST, OR 


“ Here, Gillfield,” called the mate ; and at a 
favorable moment the two men seized the wheel, 
and threw it over till they obtained control of 
the schooner. 

Before anything could be done with the 
mainsail, the rest of it had been blown away. 
As soon as the canvas was all gone, — and it 
could hardly have been removed any cleaner with 
a knife, — the savage tossing of the boom parted 
the topping-lift, and the end of the spar dropped 
into the water. It was only the work of another 
moment to finish it ; and at the next roll of the 
vessel it went by the board. 

“ You’ll have no more trouble with that stick,” 
said the mate, as coolly as though he had been 
in his own house on shore. . “ Now take the 
helm. Captain Boomsby.” 

“ Who put you in command of this vessel ? ” 
demanded the skipper, haughtily enough, now 
that all immediate danger was passed. 

“ Well, I thought you did,” replied the mate. 
“ But it’s no matter. I’m ready to obey orders.” 

“ What’s best to be done, Barnes ? ” asked the 
captain, when he had vindicated his dignity. 

“ As you are the master of this vessel, I’m 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


151 


willing to leave that to you,” answered the 
mate. 

“ I only asked your opinion,” added Captain 
Boomsby. 

“ T think we had better put a reef in the fore- 
sail, and set it.” 

“ She will carry the whole of it.” 

“ It will make too much head sail ; besides, 
it’s going to blow harder than it has yet,” said 
Barnes, coldly. “ But I’ll do just what you 
say.” 

• “ Put a reef in the foresail, then,” replied the 

skipper, thus proving that he placed more confi- 
dence in his subordinate’s judgment than in his 
own. 

“ Come Sandy,” called the mate to me ; “ we’ll 
get the foresail up, if we can.” 

I had stowed myself away under the lee of 
the trunk of the cabin, in order to avoid the 
thrashing of the broken sheet, and I limped out 
to obey the order of the mate. My shoulder 
was quite lame from the effect of being thrown 
against the bulwarks, and I was not in the best 
condition for duty. 

“ Do you see what you have done ? ” growled 


152 


GOING WEST, OE 


the captain, as I passed the wheel in crawling 
up to windward. 

“ I couldn’t help it,” I answered, with be- 
coming humility. “ I did the best I could.” 

“ No you didn’t, you villain ; you let her broach 
too on purpose ; and I’ll pay you off for it as 
soon as I have time,” snarled the old man, 
shaking his head at me to emphasize the threat ; 
and I had no doubt he would attempt to do all 
he said, at a favorable opportunity ; and I had 
no more doubt that I should resist, for I had 
begun to feel that I had some rights that ought 
to be respected. 

“ Don’t you be alarmed, Sandy,” said the mate, 
kindly. “ I’ve got my hand in, and I may as 
well be hung for an old sheep as for a lamb. 
I’ll stand by you as long as there’s anything left 
of me.” 

“ Thank you, Mr. Barnes. I mean to do my 
duty as well as I can; but I couldn’t help the 
vessel’s coming too,” I replied. 

“ Of course he couldn’t,” added Gillfield : “ it 
was just all I could do to hold her, and I was 
just thinking of asking the cap’n for a hand to 
help me. I should have done so afore, if we 
hadn’t been so short-handed.” 


THE PERH,S OP A POOR BOY. 153 

“ It wasn’t your fault Sandy. It was stupid 
in the old man to send a boy a dozen years old 
to the helm, in such a blow as this,” added the 
mate ; “ and if Boomsby’s owners don’t break 
him for this, they deserve to lose their prop- 
erty.” 

We took off the stops, and put a single reef 
in the foresail. After exercising a while, I got 
some of the stiffness out of my bones, but I was 
rather sore, for several days. When the sail 
was ready, we attempted to hoist it, but with- 
out success, for the Great West was going almost 
before the wind, and the sail got jammed in the 
fore rigging. 

“ The old man’s trying to make it as hard as 
he can,” said Barnes. “ It’s no use for us to 
attempt to get this sail up while he does so ; 
and I’m not going to wear myself out for noth- 
ing ; ” and the mate suspended his labors. 

We followed his example, and left the sail 
banging against the fore rigging. It was impos- 
sible to accomplish anything, as Barnes had 
said. 

“ Come, lively there ! ” shouted the captain. 
“ Up with that sail.” 




— T/nf in*. CaUCIUI. SmOTSIJ" 3 fT^:^ "Stt 

•ntfO- ^TTrtm-.!l 4^&^ 

~I?I- I* ~ r 3 “aif S^-"^ 3S4SKBC. SLJiaie. 

TirntMT^lT t.4^'T •“ 'i^Ttf!? ^ 5 JtSflD iC J I j ITiU^ - 

■*• T^tw- -sk? S MiE xur»* HH^- CSMIAOII*! 

^His : 5s-~ isairBsc. ^Sjntfis. y™* omiA -m^ 

iter To^ ymTL "»» ttot inrssal? -aiCi iL 

2!nc s :^r iffiiac 

"▼5^ gm>rrrrr«fg»mf»TC inroi^E ^ni£r oatii TlIt "M* iut 

imr «sntftc_ Tfr "ait «7iii*f-- 1® itpniTMac 

-ait -nfTrTtJag. 5l St Itlll "att T>fUlL Qt-'w'-k. 

gnc -ypt i«TwgaHg -an- S821 voaunzi srx U j f »i tS r 

in&eiik*- 

— A£ -nrm-1^ auHOEC "ait iianip 

V* - ■ • ^ it im t^ ait s&~ BE £Ii?£ Jtwiu 

»y«TT- -Sttt -PTtiist -psj imoter ‘att Kud 

-TTTPt-.an’- K roc sinrat 'wm ufac^ iiCTrat "at E»i&- 

Si*a fiiic I *-fa5- uiSbubb. i® atfr 

T*»mT- auniin. a^ -» ■ » -mi kk ssest si: isBxd as 

-siisL 'vidue- metsaf stk ss- stt amniaiuna 

HI ae sbS. 

— Hs.^ tfm Htagff- aif: s'rr’V- CdH- 

^~»r -ae 

— 3i't fttmy i ifginsd mj sd^ 

Tngst> 



VVOHKtD TIIL iioAT JiOWN TILL llEli StLUN WAS AFLOAT.” TagC 254. 







¥ 








r 


I 


4 



« 

« 




P 




|[ 


I 

I 

% 

»' 

« 

r 

rs 


9 


• • 



I 

I 

%>' 

r 4 


II 





it r 


>• 


I 








4 


• 4 






» • 


A 







• j 


i r 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 155 

“ He’ll shirk all he can,” added the tyrant, 
as he went down into the cabin. 

“ I guess he feels consider’ble sore about losing 
that mainsail, and I should think he would,” 
added Gillfield. 

“ I suppose I shall have to bear the blame foi 
that,” said I, thinking of the probable conse- 
quences of the affair. 

“ It was no more your fault than it was mine. 
No boy could have done a thing with the wheel, 
as it was then. Reckon he did it on purpose to 
git you into a scrape. But, Sandy, you needn’t 
steer none now. I can handle her without any 
help.” 

“ The captain told me to help steer, and I’m 
going to do it as long as I can stand up,” I 
answered, stoutly. “ He shall have no fault to 
find with me for not minding him.” 

“ I guess you are about right, Sandy.” 

We saw nothing more of the captain till after 
dinner, and he probably slept off the forenoon. 
In the mean time, the gale increased in fury ; and 
Barnes,^ without consulting his superior officer, 
took the bonnet off the jib. I helped do this, 
and then returned to the helm. 


156 


fiOING WEST, OB 


CHAPTER XlV. 

THE END OF THE VOYAGE. 

T he mate relieved the helm, while Gillfield 
and I ate our dinners ; but we took our 
places at the wheel again after the meal. In 
the afternoon Barnes declared that he was strong 
'nough to steer alone, and wanted to take our 
place ; but Captain Boomsby would not permit 
him to do so. We kept the wheel — relieved 
only at supper — till eight bells in the evening, 
when the captain came on deck to take the first 
watch. The gale had moderated somewhat, but 
the rain poured down in torrents. As Gillfield 
and I were the only hands able to do duty, we 
both wondered whether we were to be kept 
at the helm all night or not. For my part, I 
was so tired I could hardly stand, and my vet- 
eran companion was not in much better con- 
dition. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


157 


We had spoken to Barnes on this interesting 
question ; but he was no wiser than we were, 
though he said one hand could steer very well, 
since the gale had diminished. Gillfield was in 
the captain’s watch, and I was in the mate’s, so 
that, by right, I ought to be permitted to turn 
in ; but it was bad weather, and my tyrant could 
make this an excuse for keeping all hands on 
deck all night — if he thought it worth his while 
to resort to an excuse. 

“Well, Captain Boomsby, how are we to* 
manage to-night ? ” asked Barnes, as the skipper 
came on deck. 

“ Just as we have all day,” answered the cap- 
tain, glancing at me. 

“ One hand can steer well enough now ; there’s 
no need of keeping two at the wheel,” added 
the mate. 

“ I don’t think so,” said the tyrant, scowling 
at me. “ If you’ll attend to your business, 
Barnes, and obey orders, I’U take care of the 
vessel.” 

“ The weather is moderating.” 

“ I s’pose I can see that as well as you can.” 

“ Gillfield and Sandy have been at the helm 
all day,” suggested the mate. 


158 


GOING WEST, OR 


“Well, what if they have?” growled the 
captain. 

“ Men can’t stand everything, let alone boys.” 

“ I guess they won’t give out just yet,” 
sneered the master. 

“ We don’t want them to give out at all, 
especially when there’s no need of working them 
so hard.” 

“You have said enough, Barnes,” added the 
captain, turning on his heel, and showing his 
back to the mate. 

“ No, I haven’t, and I’m going to say one 
thing more ; and that is this : if you lose this 
vessel, it will be your own fault.” 

“What do you mean by that?” demanded 
the skipper, apparently a little startled by the 
remark. 

“ I mean that no vessel was ever handled any 
worse ; and if she is lost, I shall not make ho 
bones of saying so,” replied Barnes, emphatically. 
“ You lost the mainsail when there wasn’t the 
least need of doing so, as I shall be ready to 
swear in any court.” 

“ It was that boy’s fault,” pleaded the cap- 
tain. 


THE PEEILS OF A POOR BOY. 159 

“ That’s all nonsense ; and you know it is, as 
well as I do,” said Barnes, as decidedly as though 
he had been master, and not mate. “ Now you 
are trying to work up what hands, you have left, 
out of mere spite ; and if we have any more 
bad weather, you’ll lose the vessel, in my 
opinion. That’s all I’ve got to say ; ” and 
Barnes turned on his heel, and walked forward. 

I was astonished at the freedom of the mate, 
and more astonished at the manner in which the 
captain received this plain talk. Doubtless the 
truth of the remarks impressed him ; and this 
was the only explanation I could imagine. Cap- 
tain Boomsby walked the deck for a time, think- 
ing of the lesson he had received, I suppose. 
Presently he called the mate, and said something 
to him which I did not hear. A moment later, 
Barnes came to me and told me to turn in. I 
was too glad to do so to ask any questions. I 
was soon sound asleep, and knew nothing more 
till I was called at eight bells for the morning 
watch. 

The mate was at the wheel when I went on 
deck, and I met Gillfield on his way to the 
forecastle. The weather was stiU cloudy, but 


160 


GOING WEST, Oic 


the v/ind had come around to the southward, 
and was blowing very fresh again. The Great 
West was close-hauled, and making very little 
progress through the water, under her short 
canvas. 

“ We haven’t seen the worst of it yet, Sandy,” 
said Barnes, rather anxiously for him, I thought. 
The wind has chopped round to the south’ard, 
and it looks nasty ahead.” 

“ What does the captain say, Mr. Barnes ? ” I 
asked. 

“ He hasn’t said anything. I don’t believe he 
has any idea that it’s going to blow again.” 

In less than an hour the prediction of the mate 
was fully verified ; the wind began to come in 
sharp squalls, and the first one nearly knocked 
the schooner over. I took hold of the wheel 
with the mate. With so much head sail, she 
steered badly. 

“ Do you think you can get the jib down alone, 
Sandy?” asked Barnes. 

“ I don’t know ; I’ll do the best I can,” I 
replied. 

“ I don’t want to call Gillfield if I can help 
it, for the old man is about used up. He has 


THE PEKILS OF A POOR BOY. 


161 


been at the wheel sixteen hours on a stretch ; 
and the captain was crazy to keep him there so 
long.” 

“ I guess I can get the jib down alone,” I 
added, willing at least, to break my back in the 
attempt. 

“ You may try it ; and if you don’t make out, 
we must call the captain.” 

I went forward, and let go the jib halyards. 
At this moment a heavy flaw struck the schooner. 
I grasped the downhaul, but I could do nothing. 
The vessel heeled down till her rail was sub- 
merged ; and I thought the jib would be blown 
out of the bolt-ropes. But the squall lasted only 
a moment. 

“ Now, luff her up, Mr. Barnes,” I shouted to 
the mate. 

He complied with my request; and as the 
pressure was removed, I succeeded in hauling 
down the sail. The water poured in over the 
bow when I went out on the bowsprit to secure 
the wet canvas ; but I did the job, and I was 
very well satisfied with myself, for it was a big 
thing for a boy to do. I went aft, and reported 
to the mate. 

11 


162 


GOING WEST, OR 


“You did well, Sandy,” said he. “I was 
afraid, when that puff came, that you wouldn’t 
be able to fetch it.” 

“ I couldn’t till the flaw was over. I watched 
my time.” 

“ She’s all right now, and goes along easier. 
She works very well under a reefed foresail ; 
and we’ve got just slant enough to lay her 
course. Things look better than they did.” 

“ Can’t I take the helm, Mr. Barnes ? ” I 
asked. 

“ I think not ; it’s rather too much for you.” 

“I’m pretty strong, sir.” 

“ I think I won’t risk it, Sandy. I’ll tell you 
what you may do : stow yourself away under 
the lee of the trunk, and go to sleep,” laughed 
he. 

“ I’m not sleepy.” 

“ It’s best for youngsters to sleep, when they 
can, on board of this vessel, for there’s no know- 
ing when they’ll get another chance. Stow 
yourself away, Sandy.” 

I did not very strongly object to this arrange- 
ment, and I stretched myself on the wet deck. 
Though I was not sleepy, I went to sleep in a 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


16b 


little while. I had been to sea enough to take 
my nap as I had the opportunity. When I 
woke, it was daylight, and Captain Boomsby 
stood over me. In fact it was a kick from him 
that had waked me. 

“ Let him alone ! ” were the first words I 
heard ; and it was the mate who uttered them. 

“ That’s just like him,” exclaimed the captain ; 
“ asleep on his watch ! ” 

“ Let him alone. If you want to kick any- 
body, kick me, for I told him to go to sleep,” 
added Barnes. 

By this time I was on my feet, and out of 
the way of any more kicking. The skipper 
jawed for a while, but the mate did not make 
any answer^ after ^ was in a safe place. He 
ordered me to call Gillfield, and I did so. The 
weather continued as it was when I went to 
sleep, but the sea was a great deal heavier, and 
the Great West jumped wildly on the waves. 
Still, it was nothing worse than I had seen 
many times before, and I was not at all dis- 
turbed by it. After breakfast, Dick Blister 
came on deck, and reported for duty, though he 
was still quite sore. Jones was not able to 
leave his bunk during the rest of the voyage. 


164 


GOING WEST, OR 


I do not purpose to follow out, in detail, the 
incidents of the remainder of the trip to New 
York. "I think I have related enough to justify 
the course I adopted, after the arrival of the 
Great West. On account of the loss of the 
mainsail, we were another week in reaching our 
destination. We hauled in at a pier on the 
North River, ready to discharge the cargo. 

“ My cruise is up,” said Barnes, as soon as the 
vessel was secured at the pier. “ I have had 
enough of this craft.” 

“ Didn’t you ship for the trip out and home ? ’ 
demanded the captain. 

“ I did ; but I shouldn’t have any soul left if 
I should go back in her.” 

“ I won’t pay you, if you don’t carry out your 
agreement.” 

“ Wages are no object to me, to go in that 
vessel. I’m willing to throw up what’s due me, 
rather than have anything more to do with such a 
man as you are, Captain Boomsby. Them’s my 
sentiments, and I express them freely.” 

“ I don’t think it’s just the thing to leave me 
here, without any mate,” growled the master of 
the Great West. “ I don’t know as I’ve done 
voii. any harm. 


THE PERILS OP A POOR BOY. 


165 


“ Captain Boomsby I don’t think it’s safe to 
sail with a man that lets his spite get the better 
of his judgment, as you do. You lost your main- 
sail in trying to grind Sandy. You have used 
him worse than a dog ; and I won’t sail with such 
a man. It’s no use to talk about it. I shall 
take the next steamer for home.” 

The mate went below, but presently came up 
with his valise and coat. He shook hands with 
me and the other hands who were on deck, and 
then left the vessel. 

“ You have made all this trouble, Sandy, and 
you shall pay for it yet,” said the captain, grat- 
ing his teeth with wrath, as he dived down the 
companion-way into the cabin. 

I had no doubt that I should have to pay for 
it, if I remained on board of the Great West, 
which I did not intend to do. While I was con- 
sidering what I should do, a large steamer, which 
had just started from the next pier, was crowded 
in upon the schooner by a ferry-boat. I have no 
idea how it happened, but one of the boats 
struck the other, and at the instant of the col- 
lision I saw a young girl deliberately leap from 
the large steamer into the water. 


. 166 


GOING WEST, OR 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE HUDSON RIVER STEAMER. 

HY the young lady had jumped over- 



board I could not tell ; and it seemed 


to me the most foolish act that ever came under 
my notice. I am older and wiser now than I 
was at the time this act occurred, and I know 
that even full-grown men and women will do 
the strangest and most foolish things possible, 
when they are frightened. I suppose this girl was 
insane with terror, and did not know what she 
was about. At any rate, she leaped into the 
water when there was not the least need of her 
doing so. Perhaps she thought the two steam- 
ers were to be blown up, sunk, or smashed by 
the collision, and believed that her only safety 
was in the water. 

I only knew that she was in the water. She 
went over just astern of the Great West, and I 


167 


THE PERILS /F . POOR BOY. 

saw her floundering in the waves which the 
steamer had created. I was a good swimmer, 
and there seemed to be no excuse for my keep- 
ing a dry shirt on my back. I was not roman- 
tic, or anything of that sort ; but, without con- 
sidering the matter then, as I have now, I leaped 
into the water, and swam to the young lady. 
In a moment I had her in my arms. Though 
she did her best to sink us both, my pluck and 
strength enabled me to overcome her obstinate 
resistance to being saved. I got hold of her in 
such a way that she could do nothing. I should 
think she was not more than ten years old ; at 
any rate, she was a child, and I have only called 
her a young lady, because the people on the 
steamer called her so. 

In order - to prevent any misapprehension, I 
wish, at this early stage of the case, to state that 
I did not marry this girl in after years, and that 
she is not the heroine of my story. I never even 
saw her again after she was recovered by her 
friends, tL ugh I do know that she expressed a 
desire to sco her deliverer. There was really no 
romance at all in the affair. I think I had not 
held her up in the water more than half a 


168 


GOING WEST, OR 


minute, before a boat came to our aid from the 
steamer, and my burden was taken from iny 
arms. I noticed a woman on the deck wringing 
her hands, and occasionally screaming. I sup- 
posed she was the mother of the girl ; but I did 
not see her again. By her side was a gentleman 
who seemed to be very much disturbed, though 
he was trying to quiet the lady. 

The boat which had picked us up conveyed 
us to the steamer. The girl was seized by the 
eager crowd, as though each one of them wanted 
to have a hand in the rescue, while very little 
attention was paid to me. I leaped upon the 
deck as soon as the people got out of the way 
and swarmed aft with the heroine of the occa- 
sion. I was not thinking much about the girl, 
or the event which had just transpired. I was 
as wet as a drowned rat, and I began to shiver 
with the cold ; but even my frigid condition did 
not prevent me from walking to a point on the 
steamer where I could see the Great West. The 
huge boat appeared to be drifting in towards 
the dock, and Captain Boomsby was holding a 
fender over the taffrail, to save the stern of the 
schooner from being smashed. 


THE PERLLS OF A POOR BOY. 


169 


“ Where’s that boy ? ” shouted he, vigorously. 

“ What boy ? ” I heard some one on the deck 
above me ask. 

“ The boy that got the gal out of the water,” 
replied the captain. 

“ On the main deck,” added the man above 
me. 

“ Send him back — will you ? ” said my tyrant, 
anxiously. 

“We must go ahead now, or run into you; 
but we make a landing at Twenty-Third Street, 
and he can come down in the horse-car,” re- 
plied the person on the upper deck ; and, as I 
heard the big gong in the engine-room sound at 
this moment, I concluded he was the captain of 
the boat. 

The great wheel of the steamer splashed in 
the water, and the boat went ahead. I did not 
believe, just then, that I should go down in the 
horse-car to the Great West. It seemed to me 
that the affair I have described had given me a 
good start ; and I did not intend to be sent back 
if I could help it. I meant that it should be 
my fault if I went back. 

“ Stop, stop ! ” yelled Captain Boomsby. 


170 


GOING WEST, OR 


“We can’t stop,” answered the captain. 

“Don’t carry that boy off!” 

“ He will be all right ; he can come down in 
half an hour,” added the captain, as the steam- 
er passed out of hailing distance. 

I saw Captain Boomsby through the window 
of the starboard fire-room ; but I took care that 
he should not see me. As soon as the boat had 
passed the pier where the Great West lay, I 
went into the fire-room, seeking the warmth 
which my wet condition rendered so agreeable. 
I walked up to one of the open doors of the 
glowing furnaces — fo" they had been opened 
when the boat stopped. I had on only my 
trousers and a woollen shirt, besides my stockings ; 
I had kicked off my shoes before I leaped into 
the water. My old hat was gone, and my ward- 
robe, always meagre, was very much reduced, 
for a young man about to set out on his travels. 

“ No' loafers allowed in here ! ” said one of the 
firemen, gruffly, as I took my place in front of 
the furnace. “ Out of here ! ” 

“Won’t you let me dry myself?” I asked, 
humbly, and shivering with cold. 

“We don’t allow loafers in the fire-rooms. 


THE PERILrS OF A POOR BOY. 


in 


Out with you!” he added, in the most uncom- 
promising of tones. 

“ I'll keep out of the way, if you’ll let me stay 
a little while,” I pleaded. “ I’m wet and shak- 
ing with the cold.” 

“ What makes you so wet ? ” he asked, bestow- 
ing upon me a good look for the first time. 

“ I was overboard just now.” 

“How came you overboard?” 

“ I went over after that girl,” I replied, with 
a heavy shiver. 

“ O ! are you the lad that saved that girl ? ” 
he inquired, opening his eyes very wide. 

“I am ; and that’s what makes me so wet and 
cold.” 

, “ All Tight ! Then you may stay here all day, 
and get into the furnaces, if you want to,” he 
added, with a smile on his smutty face. 

“ I don’t care about getting into the furnace ; 
it is rather too warm in there.” 

“ I should say so,” laughed he. “ You were 
a smart boy to pick that girl up.” 

“ It wasn’t much of a job.” 

“ It was a good job for the girl, any how ; 
and it ought to be a good job for you, if lier 


172 GOING WEST, OR 

father and mother have any souls. It was a 
brave act.” 

“ I don’t know’s it was. I would have gone 
over any time for five cents ; at least, when the 
weather isn’t quite so chilly as it is this morn- 
ing.” 

“ Do you belong to that schooner ? ” 

“Yes; I did belong to her; but I don’t care 
about going back to her,” I answered frankly. 

“ Don’t you ? Wasn’t the man who was yell- 
ing after you your father ? ” 

“ No ; no relation to me, I’m glad to say.” 

“Don’t he use you well?” asked my new 
friend, who seemed to be a veiy intelligent 
man. 

He was not a fireman, as I first supposed, but 
an oiler, or greaser, as they are sometimes called. 
I explained to him as briefly as I could, my 
relations with the Great West and her captain. 

“ I wish Mr. Barnes were here ; he could tell 
you what sort of a fellow I am,” I added. 

“ Who’s Mr. Barnes ? ” 

“He was the mate of .the schooner; but he 
left her as soon as she hauled in at the pier. 
He wouldn’t even make the trip home in the 
vessel, the skipper was so mean.” 


THE PERILS OP A POOR BOY. 


173 


At this moment the great gong in the engine^ 
room sounded again, and the wheels stopped. I 
supposed the boat was going to make her land- 
ing at Twenty-Third Street, as I had heard the 
captain say. 

“ I don’t want to go ashore here,” I said to 
the oiler. “ I shall freeze to death in the cold 
wind.” 

“ Don’t go ashore then,” replied he. “ You 
can go up the river, and come down with us 
to-morrow.” 

“ Thank you ; I should like to go up, ever so 
much,” I added, delighted with the idea, though 
I doubted whether I should come down in the 
steamer, if I once got to Albany* whither she 
was bound. 

“ Where’s the boy that saved the girl ? ” 
shouted some one on the main deck ; and the 
inquiry was repeated several times by different 
persons, as I judged by the voices. 

I was afraid the captain of the boat would 
consider it his duty to send me back to the 
Great West ; and in order to save him all trouble 
of this kind on my account, I dodged out of the 
fire-room, while the oiler was engaged in doing 


174 


GOING WEST, OR 


the work which had called him into the place. 
Those who were looking for me had gone for- 
ward. I saw several doors on each side of me, 
and I opened one of them. It was the lamp- 
room, hardly larger than a closet, and full of 
lamps and lanterns. I went in and shut the 
door. It was so near the boiler that it was in- 
tensely hot, when closed, so that I did not suf- 
fer from the cold. The call for the boy who 
had saved the girl was continually repeated ; but 
at last I heard some one say that he must have 
gone ashore. 

“ But the father of the girl wants to see him,” 
I heard a man say, near the door of the lamp- 
room. 

“We can’t find him anj^where,” added another. 
“ If the girl’s father wants to see him, he will 
find him on board of that schooner. 

I thought not ; but I did not care to take a 
part in the discussion ; so I did not open the 
door to dispute the point. The steamer did not 
stop over five minutes; and as soon as I heard 
the splashing of the great wheels, which followed 
the stroke of the gong, I left my oily den, and 
returned to the fire-room. My friend was no 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


175 


longer there ; and the fireman told me he had 
returned to the engine-room, where he belonged. 
I did not care to see him again at once ; so I 
attended to the drying process upon my scanty 
apparel. The room was so hot, in spite of the 
open window, that the perspiration poured from 
the faces of the firemen. In this atmosphere my 
clothes were soon dry, and I was quite comfort- 
able. 

I must pause to say that I was a very hard- 
looking boy, at that particular moment when I 
began to feel like myself again. My trousers, 
which were well worn out when they came into 
my possession, and had fallen into a state of 
hopeless dilapidation from long use, had suffered 
badly while I was in the water, struggling with 
the girl, or in the process of being hauled into 
the boat. They were terribly tattered and torn, 
and scarcely answered the purpose required of 
such a garment. My woollen shirt was in no 
better condition, and had also been badly shat- 
tered in the struggle with the little maid in the 
water. In a fragment of looking-glass, nailed up 
in the fire-room, I had a chance to see my face. 
It was covered with “ real estate,” and streaked 


176 


GOING WEST, OR 


by the action of the dirty water of the dock„ 
which at the place where I went in, was black 
with filth. My hair was matted with dirt and 
salt water ; and even among the “ wharf-rats ” 
of New York, it would have been difficult to find 
a more unpromising specimen of humanity. I 
did not like the looks of myself at all. 

I asked one of the Irish firemen if I could not 
have a chance to “ clean-up ” a little. He drew 
a bucket of water from the river, and gave me 
a piece of soap, with which I thoroughly washed 
my face and head. I felt better then ; and, with 
two or three pins the fireman gave me, I closed 
up as many of the worst rents of my trousers as 
'I could. Still, I was far from being in presen- 
table condition, though I wished to call upon 
the oiler in the engine-room. Some of the hands 
had told him where I was, and he had sent 
word for me to come to him as soon as my 
clothes were dry. I had done all I could to 
improve my personal appearance ; and, hatless 
and shoeless, I went to the engine-room. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


177 


CHAPTER XVI. 

JIR. BUCKMINSTER AND OTHERS. 

6 6 A ^THAT’S this, Locke? ’’said the engi- 
f T i\eer on duty, as I entered the room, 
addressing the oiler who had befriended me. 

“ That’s the boy that saved the girl,” replied 
the greaser, placing his oil-can in the rack, 
in front of the machinery. 

“ When did he escape from the rag-bag ? ” 
laughed the engineer. 

“ He’s a good boy, Bennett, in spite of his 
looks. The man he lived with used him badly, 
and didn’t half clothe or feed him,” added 
Locke. 

“ He certainly didn’t half clothe him.” 

“And I know what -it is to be hungry,” I 
said. 

“ Where have you been, my lad ? I heard 
them say you had gone on shore,” inquired 
Locke. (12) 


178 


GOING WEST, OR 


“ I didn’t go ashore. I was afraid the captain 
might want to send me back to the schooner ; 
so I stowed myself away in the lamp-room,” I 
replied. “ I don’t intend to sail in that vessel 
any more, if I can help it.” 

Locke and the engineer asked me a great . 
many questions relating to my history, all of 
which I answered frankly and truthfully, till 
they knew my whole story. 

“ What’s your name ? ” inquired the oiler. 

“ Alexander Duddleton.” 

“ Duddleton ! ” exclaimed Bennett. 

“ I don’t like the name any better than you 
do,” I added : “ and I mean to change it some 
time.” 

“ I would,” laughed the engineer : “ such a 
name as that is enough to ruin a boy.” 

“ I think it’s very likely it did ruin one man, 
for the old Scotch doctor they borrowed it from, 
for my use, died drunk,” I explained. 

“ Captain ! ” called Bennett to a gentleman 
who passed the door of the engine-room at this 
moment. 

“ What have you got there ? ” asked the cap- 
tain, stopping at the^door of the engine-room, 
and bestowing a scrutinizing glance upon me. 


THE PERILS OP A POOR BOY. 179 

“ This is the boy that saved the girl,” answered 
the engineer. “He’s like a singed cat — better 
than he looks.” 

“ That? ” queried the captain ; and he seemed 
to me to be so great a man that I ought to 
tremble in his presence, though I did not -shake, 
unless it was with the cold, for out of the 
fire-room I felt the need of my razeed jacket, 
which I had left on the deck of the Great 
West. 

“ He’s the very one,” added Locke. “ I was 
in the fire-room when he first showed himself, 
and he was as wet as a drowned rat.” 

“ He behaved like a good fellow in the water,” 
said the captain, bestowing a patronizing smile 
upon me. “ But how happens he <^^0 be here ? 
I thought he went ashore at Twenty-Third 
Street.” 

Locke told him how it was I happened to be 
there, and added some particulars of my former 
story. 

“ Who was the old man that hailed me from 
the schooner ? ” asked the captain. 

“ That was Captain Boomsby,” I replied. 

“ I should judge by the looks of him that he 


180 


GOING WEST, OR 


was capable of ill-using a boy. He was very 
much opposed to my carrying you off, even as 
far as Twenty-Third Street.” 

“ Perhaps he was afraid I should run away,” 
I suggested. 

“ Very likely.” 

“ I don’t want to go back to him,” I continued, 
rolling up the sleeve of my shirt, and showing 
him where the captain of the Great West had 
hit me with the rope’s end. 

“ What did he flog you for ? ” 

I told the story of the last voyage of the 
Great West; but I was careful not to make 
Captain Boomsby’s treatment of me any worse 
than it was, for the simple truth was bad 
enough. 

“Didn’t you have any shoes?” asked the 
captain, glancing at my feet, the toes of which 
were sticking out through my socks. 

“ Yes, sir ; I had some, but I kicked them 
off when I went into the water, so that I could 
swim,” I replied. 

“ Can’t you raise a pair of shoes for him, 
Locke ? ” asked the captain. 

“ Locke on the Understanding,” chuckled the 


THE PEKILS OF A POOR BOY. 


181 


engineer, who seemed to enjoy his little joke. 
“He ought to be able to get an understanding 
for this boy, if anybody can.” 

“ I’ll see what can be done,” replied the oiler. 
“ His foot is almost as big as Bennett’s, but I 
hope I shall find a pair large enough for him.” 

“But Mr. Buckminster wants to see you, my 
boy,” added Captain Rowe. 

“ Who, sir ? ” I inquired. 

“ Mr. Buckminster ; he’s the father of the girl 
you saved. I told him you went ashore at 
Twenty-Third Street.” 

“ Where is he, sir? ” 

“ He has a drawing-room on the saloon deck ; 
but, my lad, you are hardly in condition to go 
up among the passengers,” added the captain, 
glancing at the scantiness and the filthiness of 
my dress. 

“ I don’t want to go up, sir,” I protested, not 
wishing to be stared at, and perhaps made fun 
of, by the elegant people I had seen on the 
promenade deck, before I jumped into the 
water. 

“ He can come down and see you ; and that 
will do just as well. He was very much con- 


182 


GOING WEST, OR 


oerned about you, and was afraid you would 
think he had not treated you very handsomely, 
because he did not see you before you left the 
boat, as he supposed. He was so busy attend- 
ing to his daughter, that he thought of nothing 
else, till the boat made her landing. I gave him 
the name of the schooner — the Great West — 
and the number of the pier where she lay, and 
he was going back to New York by train to- 
night, in order to see you and your father, as 
he called the master of the vessel.” 

“ I’m thankful that Captain Boomsby isn’t my 
father,” I added. “ I don’t care about seeing 
this Mr. Buckminster.” 

“You don’t care about it! Why not?” 

“ I’m afraid he’ll send me back to the Great 
West.” 

“ Perhaps he will be able to do something for 
you,” replied Captain Rowe. “ He’s very grate- 
ful to you for what you did, as he ought to be, 
for the girl might have sunk , before the boat 
reached her. Mr. Buckminster is a very wealthy 
man, though he has the reputation of being not 
a very open-fisted man.” 

“ I don’t know’s I want anything of him,” I 
added, indifferently. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


183 


“ He want’s something of you,” laughed the 
captain, as he left the engine-room ; and I saw 
him go up the stairs to the upper deck. 

“ Very likely you have made your fortune, my 
lad,” said the engineer. “ You have saved the 
daughter of a rich man from a watery grave, and 
a very muddy one at the same time ; and he 
ought to come down handsomely.” 

“ Down from the upper deck ? ” I queried. 

“ Shell out, I mean,” laughed Bennett. 

“Is he in the shagbark business ? ” 

“Not exactly.” 

“ What’s he going to shell out, then ? ” 

“ You are a harmless infant — aren’t you, Alex- 
ander Duddleton ? ” 

“ I never hurt anybody, if I can help it,” I 
replied. “We shell out walnuts and shagbarks 
down at Glossenbury, where I came from ; but I 
don’t know what Mr. Buckminster is going to 
shell out.” 

“ Money, my lad ! He ought to pay you well 
for what you’ve done ; and if he isn’t a heathen, 
he will do so.” 

“ I don’t ask anything ; but if he has a mind 
to give me another jacket to keep me warm, I 
won’t say anything against it.” 


184 


GOING WEST, OR 


“ He will do more than that ; but here he 
comes.” 

I looked out of the window of the engine- 
room, and saw Captain Rowe approaching, with 
a gentlemen of about fifty, who looked something 
hke a Quaker. It was the one I had seen trying 
to quiet the mother of the girl, when the child 
was struggling in the water. 

“ This is the boy,” said the captain, making 
a gesture towards me. 

“ I am very glad to see you, my young friend,” 
added Mr. Buckminster, grasping my hand. 
“ You have done me a very great service, and I 
shall never forget it.” 

“ I don’t mind that,” I answered, looking on 
the floor. 

“ I mind it, for we might have lost poor 
Rosalie if you had waited even a moment before 
you jumped into the water. I saw it all, and it 
was a very noble deed, whatever you may say 
of it. I am very sorry to learn from Captain 
Rowe that you have not led a very happy 
life.” 

“Not very happy, sir,” I answered. “ When 
a fellow don’t have enough to eat, and not 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


185 


clothes enough to keep him warm, to say nothing 
of being licked half to death, he isn’t always 
happy.” 

“ Poor boy ! ” sighed the rich man. “ But I 
shall do all I can for you.” 

“Take him into my room, Mr. Buckminster,” 
interposed the captain. “ You can talk it over 
with him there till you get to Newburgh.” 

Captain Rowe showed us to his state-room, 
which was fitted up handsomer than the minis- 
ter’s parlor in Glossenbury, I thought. Mr. 
Buckminster sat down, and placed a stool for 
me, which I took. He wanted to know all about 
me, and I told him as frankly as I had told 
Locke, what I knew of myself. I showed the 
manner in which I had been treated by Captain 
Boomsby and his wife. I dwelt strongly upon 
the deficiency of my wardrobe, because I hoped 
the gentleman who was so thankful to me for 
what I had done, would give me a jacket and a 
hat or cap. As he was rather a small man in 
stature, it occurred to me that one of his old 
coats, with the skirts cut off, would not be a 
worse fit than the garments I had been accus- 
tomed to wear. I intended to suggest this idea 
to him, if he did not offer to furnish me with a 
jacket. 


186 


GOING WEST, OR 


“ Then you did not wish to go back to Cap- 
tain Boomsby ? ” said Mr. Buckminster, when I 
had finished my narrative. 

“ No, sir ; I did not, and I don’t now. I in- 
tended to leave him as soon as the vessel got to 
New York,” I replied, very decidedly. 

“ Run away? ” he queried, with a very troubled 
look. 

“Yes, sir, run away; that’s the idea.” 

“ But it’s bad to run away, Alexander,” added 
Mr. Buckminster, shaking his head. 

“ It’s not half so bad as not doing it, when a 
fellow is treated like a dog, as I have been,” I 
pleaded. “ If Captain Boomsby was my father, 
or treated me half as well as he does his pigs, 
I wouldn’t run away, any more than I would 
hang myself.” 

“ Perhaps I can see this Captain Boomsby, 
and induce him to let you go to a good place, 
which I will find for you.” 

“ It’s no use ; he wouldn’t let me go ; he 
would keep me, if it was only to grind me 
down.” 

“ Well, we will consider this matter in the 
future. I live in Newburgh, where we shall 
arrive about noon.” 



BLACK Waiter stood behind my Chair.” Puae 18C. 





THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


187 


“ About grub time,” I added, remembering 
that I had not yet been to breakfast, for we had 
been at work hauling in the vessel at the dock 
at the time for the morning meal. 

“ Dinner time, I suppose you mean,” said Mr. 
Buckminster, with a smile. 

“ It will be breakfast time with me, for I 
haven’t had anything to eat since' four bells in 
the dog watch yesterday afternoon,” I added, 
laughing. 

“ Poor boy ! Why didn’t you say so before ? ” 
said my friend, rising from his chair. “ I will 
see that you have sometliing to eat instantly. 
But I want you to stop with me at Newburgh ; 
and you shall have some clothes as soon as we 
land. 

“ Bully for. you ! ” came to my lips, but no 
farther. 

Mr. Buckminster called the steward, ordered 
the best meal that could be served for me, while 
Locke was reproaching me for not telling him I 
had had no breakfast. 


188 


GOING WEST, OR 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE SHOPS OF NEWBURGH. 

I WAS not as hungry as I had been at times 
before ; but I never saw the time when a 
nice breakfast or dinner did not taste good ; 
and I was not sorry when a waiter summoned 
me to the officers’ mess-room, where I found a 
hot beefsteak, potatoes, and hot coffee on the 
table, awaiting me. It reminded me of that 
glorious dinner on the day of the k’ial, which 
was put on the table for the constable to look 
at, rather than for me to eat, though I had the 
pleasure of eating it, as a part of the farce. A 
black waiter stood behind my chair, and the 
fellow 'often treated me to a grin, as he saw me 
make way with the dishes before me. I must 
add that he treated me very kindly, though 
there was nothing about me to inspire respect in 
men of his calling, for he certainly did not 


THE PERH^S OF A POOR BOY. 


189 


expect to get a “ quarter ” out of me. I ate all 
I could, as usual ; and when I had finished the 
meal, I was told that the boat was at Newburgh, 
and that Mr. Buckminster wished to see me. 

“ The engineer and the oiler took me in charge, 
and told me that my grateful friend would be 
after me in a few moments. It seemed that he 
had gone to put his wife and daughter into a 
carriage which was to take them home, while 
he attended to my wants. Bennett and Locke 
bade me a very kind adieu, and told me that 
if I ever wanted help, to come to them. I 
thanked them warmly, and assured them that 
I should do so. While they were shaking hands 
with me, Mr. Buckminster came after me. 

“ Well, my young friend, are you ready to go 
with me ? ” he asked, as tenderly as though I 
had not been a ragged and friendless boy. 

“Yes, sir; I’m all ready,” I replied, warmed 
by the kindly smile of the benevolent gentleman. 
“ I’m very much obliged to you for the nice 
breakfast I had. It was the best meal I ever 
had in my life, except the one that was got up 
to show off to the constable.” 

“ Indeed ; how was that ? ” he asked, as we 
walked upon the wharf. 


190 


GOING WEST, OR 


I told him how it was, as he led the way up 
the street. He listened to me with attention 
while I told him all about Nick’s stealing the 
quarter, and laying it to me, whicTi had been 
the beginning of all my later troubles. 

“ There, I think we will stop here,” said Mr. 
Buckminster, pausing before a clothing store. 

We entered the shop, and my friend told the 
salesman what he wanted — a suit of serviceable 
clothes for a boy of my size. Mr. Buckminster 
seemed to know all about the goods, for he 
promptly rejected several suits that were shown 
to him, though at last he was pleased with one 
of dark, mixed cloth. He asked me if I was 
satisfied with it. 

“ I never had anything like so nice a suit of 
clothes in my life,” I replied, with the utmost 
enthusiasm. I should say those were good 
enough for any minister in our town. I never 
had anything but the old clothes of Captain 
Boomsby and his son.” 

“ Not for Sunday ? ” 

“ Sunday ! All days were alike to me.” 

“ Didn’t you go to Sunday school and to 
church ? ” 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


191 


“ No, sir ; I never had any clothes fit to wear 
to meeting, or anywhere else.” 

“ That’s too bad ! ” exclaimed my good friend, 
shaking his head, with a sad smile. 

“ I don’t know but I’ve been to meeting two 
or three times, ” I added ; and I would not have 
told him a lie for all the world. “ I got in 
behind the stove once ; and I stood behind the 
door another time. That’s all I can remember 
now, though I went to what they called a lec- 
ture once, in the school-house.” 

“ Your spiritual welfare seems to have been 
neglected.” 

I thought so myself, though I was by no 
means so ignorant of religious matters as, perhaps, 
he supposed. By this time the bundle of clothes 
was done up, and it was handed to me. Mr. 
Buckminster intimated that I was to follow him, 
which I did. We next visited a dry goods 
store, where my companion purchased four pairs 
of socks and two woollen shirts, besides, some 
.white collars and a neck-handkerchief.’ The lat- 
ter articles were something I had never worn ; 
and I had always thought they were a foppish 
luxury. 


192 


GOING WEST, OR 


“ See here, Mr. Buckminster ; am I going into 
the dry-goods business ? ” I inquired, amazed at 
the extravagance with which he was fitting me 
out. 

“ Why, no, my lad,” he replied, laughing 
heartily, as he led me into a hat store. “ Why 
do you ask such a question ? ” 

“ I never had so many clothes before in my 
life.” 

“ I’m sure you are not overstocked yet.” 

“ What am I going to do with them ? I can’t 
carry them all.” 

“We will see about that when we have 
bought all the clothes you need,” added Mr. 
Buckminster. 

“I’ve got all I 'need now,” I protested. 

“ Don’t you want a hat ? ” laughed he. 

“I forgot the hat,” I answered. 

“ If you’ll leave it all to me, Alexander, I will 
see that you have all that you need, but are not - 
overburdened.” 

“ I didn’t mean to find any fault ; only I didn’t 
want you to buy out all these stores for me.” 

“We shall not exhaust their stocks just yet, 
my young friend.” 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


193 


In this store he bought a kind of soft hat, 
which, he said, would become me well. Before 
this, I had worn a hat to keep my head warm, 
and not to “ become ” me. That was a new 
idea to me, though I had heard Mrs. Boomsby 
talk about such trifles. I had never suspected 
that anything would become such an outcast as 
I was. I did not suppose that such words had 
any application to me. While I was considering 
this new revelation, I saw my princely benefac- 
tor looking at some small travelling bags. I 
wondered if he was going to buy one of them 
♦for me. It did not seem quite possible that he 
^ could think I needed such a thing. A travel- 
ling bag for me ! Wl^at would Captain Boomsby 
think of that ? Why, he hardly thought such a 
thing was necessary for himself ; and certainly 
he would think it was utter folly for me to 
have one. 

“ How do you like this bag ? ” asked Mr. 
Buckminster, holding the article up to me. 

“ I like it first rate,” I replied. Are you 
buying one for your own use ? ” 

“ No ; not for my use, but for your use.” 

“I never had such a thing in my life, and I 

13 


194 


GOING WEST, OR 


don’t know as I need it,” I answered, doubtfully. 
“ I’m nothing but a poor boy ; and I have no 
idea of setting up for a gentleman just yet ; and 
I suppose that none but big folks have travel- 
ling bags.” 

“They are just as necessary for poor folks as 
for rich ones,” laughed my benefactor. “ A 
little while ago you said you couldn’t carry these 
clothes if you had them ; and I thought you 
needed a bag. I really don’t think it is a very 
aristocratic affair, and it seems to me to be 
a useful, if not a necessary, thing for you to 
have.” 

“ I always carried my clothes in a bundle, 
when I had any to carry.” 

“ This is better. Now put your shirts and 
socks into it ; and whenever you find it is an 
encumberance, you can, no doubt, give it 
awa3^” 

“ Give it away ! catcli me ! ” I added, as I 
proceeded to stow awa^' my goods in the bag. 
“ I think it is the best thing in the Avorld ; in 
fact, too good for such a fellow as me.” 

“ You must learn to think a little more of 
yourself, my young friend.” 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 195 

“ Captain Boomsby licked me because he sup- 
posed I thought I was as good as his sou ; but 
I didn’t think I was.” 

“ Perhaps you were,” suggested Mr. Buck- 
minster, as he led the way out of the shop. 

I only wondered what captain Boomsby would 
have said if he had heard that. I thought he 
would have been mad enough to pitch into my 
Quaker-looking friend. Then I tried to imagine 
what Mr. Buckminster intended to do next. 
Inflated by the rich store of goods in my bag, 
it seemed to me that he had pretty much cleaned 
out the stores of Newburgh, and I wondered if 
he could think of anything else that I needed. 
He led me into a shoe store next. Locke had 
found a pair of old shoes for me, which were 
better than anything I had worn before for a 
year, and I thought it a piece of extravagance 
to invest any money in shoes. It is true, the 
toes were out, but the soles were not more than 
half gone, and in my former home they would 
have stood me for six months, for I should have 
been obliged to wear them ' as long as they 
would stay on my. feet. However, I did not 
think it my duty to object to anything my 


196 


GOING WEST, OR 


Samaritan wished to do ; and in his present line 
of conduct I was even willing to let him have 
his own way. 

He did have his own way, and without any 
protest on my part. I was fitted to a pair of 
stout shoes, or a pair was fitted to me, and I 
don’t know which, for my toes were consider- 
ably pinched before a pair was found which 
were big enough for me. My friend told me to 
put them into the bag for the present. I did 
not believe that my ingenious conductor could 
think of anything more that I needed, though I 
wondered if he would not buy me a cane and a 
pair of kid gloves, such as he had himself. If 
he attempted to do anything of this kind, I was 
determined to protest with all my might, for I 
well rememljered the sentiment of disgust ex- 
cited by a young fellow who came to Glossen- 
bury to pass the summer. We country boys 
actually hooted at him, till he found it con- 
venient to leave his gloves in the house. But 
Mr. Buckminster did not attempt to .inflict these 
articles upon me, and I was spared the pain of 
protesting. Somewhat to my astonishment, his 
next visit was to a barber’s shop, over the door 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


197 


of which was a sign whereon was painted, in 
large letters, the word, “ Baths.” I knew what 
the barber’s pole meant, and I understood the 
signification of “ bath,” though in this con- 
nection it was a mystery to me. What were we 
in this place for? Surely, my charitable friend 
did not intend to have me shaved by the 
silky man in a white apron, who was rendering 
this service to an elderly person in the chair. 
I was conscious that I had a little white down 
on my upper lip, but 1 did not dignify it by 
the name of beard. Possibly I knew that bar- 
bers cut hair ; if I did, the fact had no appli- 
cation to me, for Jim Bucks, who sheared sheep 
in the season, sheared the heads of most of the 
men and boys on the east road, where I lived. 

But the object of this visit was speedilj’- 
apparent, for as soon as the elderly man rose 
from fiis chair, the barber bowed obsequiously 
to my benevolent conductor. Mr. Buckminster 
told me to seat myself in the chair, which I 
did, whereat the barber seemed to be dismayed. 
I confess that I did not blame him, for he 
might well have been appalled to see such a 
bundle of rags in his nice, stuffed chair. My 


198 


GOING WEST, OR 


friend told him to cut my hair^ which was cer- 
tainly long enough to be improved by such an 
operation. 

“ His head was thoroughly washed this fore- 
noon, and he is cleaner than lie seems to be,” 
said Mr. Buckminster, Avith a pleasant smile. 

“ I was just going to dinner as you came in,” 
added the barber, apparently much embarrassed.’ 

“ Were you? Well, I wanted the boy to have 
a bath ; and if you wish to go, we will find 
another shop,” replied niy Samaritan. 

“ O, no, sir ! I was only going to say that 
I would lock the shop door, to prevent any 
more customers from coming in, if you don’t 
object,” pleaded the barber. 

“ I don’t object ; though I would rather have 
you say outright that you do not wish any one 
to see such a ragged boy in one of your chairs,” 
laughed Mr. Buckminster. 

“ It would injure my business.” 

“ Then lock the door.” 

After the barber had cut my hair, a bath was 
prepared for me, and both he and Mr. Buck- 
minster went away, leaving me, locked into the 
shop, to make my ablutions in the bath-room. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


199 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE BATH AND THE BARBER. 

HOUGH I had always been in the habit 



I of going into the water every Sunday in 
warm weather, a bath, as it was revealed to 
me in- the barber’s shop, was a new institution. 
It seemed to me that rich people, with such 
appliances as this, ought to keep clean. The 
water was warm and pleasant, the soap was 
soft and fragrant, and the long-handled brush 
was the best thing in the world for reaching 
the point on the spinal column between the 
shoulders. I enjoyed the bath hugely, and I 
was in no hurry to get out of it. I soaped 
and scrubbed myself to my heart’s content ; 
and I don’t know that I should have come out 
till dark, if the pleasure of putting on my new 
clothes had not been still before me. I dried 
myself carefully, and felt like a new being. 


200 


GOING WEST, OR 


I put on one of the new woollen shirts, and 
found that it was a good fit. The trowsers 
could not have been better if they had been 
made for me. I discarded the old rope-yarns 
which had served me for suspenders, and put 
on the gayly-colored ones purchased at the cloth- 
ing store. Already I began to feel like a 
dandy; and I thought that it would .not be 
safe for me to walk through Glossenbury in this 
rig, for all the boys Avould hoot at me. The 
socks and shoes were next added to my person, 
and the effect was entirely satisfactory. The 
linen collar and the neck-handkerchief gave a 
finish to my appearance which I had never un- 
derstood before, for I had not before worn 
anything on my neck, unless it was a con- 
demned comforter when I went out in the 
coldest weather. 

I put on the vest with a feeling that this 
garment was a piece of useless extravagance. 
I had never worn one before, and the wonder 
was, that I did not get it on upside down, or 
“ hind side afore.” I capped the climax when 
I donned the coat, which was a kind of bob- 
tailed frock, with the skirts reaching just be- 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


201 


low the hips. Then I looked in the large 
looking-glass in the bath room, and I was 
quite unwilling to believe that I was Alexander 
Duddleton, late of the schooner Great West, 
and formerly of Glossenbury. If I had not 
recalled the events of the last few hours, I 
should not have recognized myself in the nice- 
looking fellow before me. I did not believe 
Captain Boomsby would know me, if he saw 
me ; and this was a great comfort. I even 
thought it would be safe for me to go back to 
New York, and walk the streets of that village. 

I put the hat on my head ; but, somehow, 
something seemed to be wanting. I took it off 
again. I had neglected to comb my hair, after 
the scrubbing I had given it in the tub. The 
barber had not left much of it for my use, but 
what there was stood up like the bristles on a 
pig’s back. My hair was not very coarse, and 
did not naturally seek this position. I combed 
it down straight, as I had been in the habit of 
doing, when I did anything to it. I tried the 
hat again, and the effect seemed to be com- 
plete. 

“How are you, Sandy?” I said aloud to the 


202 


GOING WEST, OR 


figure in the glass, which did not yet seem to 
belong to me. 

While I was examining myself, I heard the 
door of the shop open, followed by the foot- 
steps of the barber, for they were too rapid to 
be those of my benefactor. 

“Well, my lad, how do you get along?” he 
asked. 

“ First rate,” I replied, unfastening my door 
and throwing it open. “ I feel as though I 
was somebody else just now.” 

“ I should think you would,” laughed the 
tonsorial artist, surveying me from head to foot. 
“You look like another man.” 

“ I feel like one,” I added, taking off my hat. 

“ Here, sit down in the chair, my lad, and 
let me polish you off a little on the head.” 

It did not seem to me possible that anything 
more could be done to improve my personal ap- 
pearance, even if it were desirable ; but I seated 
myself in the chair. The barber oiled my hair, 
and squirted fragrant compounds upon it till it 
seemed to me that an “ essence peddler ” had 
been upset upon me. Then he rubbed my 
head till the bones of my skull cracked under 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


203 


his vigorous operations. I did not exactly 
understand what he was driving at; but I 
submitted without a murmur to the discipline. 
While my head was still snapping, and the 
stars were twinkling before me, he applied the 
comb and brush. In the glass before me I 
saw that the oil and compounds had made my 
rebellious hair so pliant that it would remain 
in whatever position the barber placed it. He 
parted it on one side, — this seemed to me then 
to be a feminine vanity, — and “ topped up ” the 
ends, till I fancied I looked like the dancing- 
master who came to our town in the winter, to 
give lessons in his art to the sons and daugh- 
ters of tlie rich people. 

At last he finished his operations, and to me 
the effect was “stunning.” I was on the 
point of asking tlie barber to introduce me to 
Mr. Sandy Duddleton, when Mr. Buckminster 
entered the shop. He looked at me, and gave 
way to a hearty laugli. I blushed, and wanted 
to rub the kinks out of my hair. I should 
have done so if the barber had not been present, 
for it did not seem to me just the thing to 
undo the work he had so laboriously accom- 
plished. 


204 


GOING WEST, OR 


“ I am delighted to see you looking so well, 
Alexander,” said my kind friend. “ You have 
made a wonderful change in yourself.” 

“ I feel like a cat in a strange garret,” 1 
replied, much embarrassed. 

“You will get used to it in a few hours. 
You look like another person ; and I don’t 
think your best friends would know you.” 

“ I don’t quite know myself in these togs.” 

“ The clothes must feel a little strange to 
you,” laughed Mr. Buckminster, as he looked 
me over again. “ Now, where is your bag ? ” 

“I left it in that room,” I replied, pointing 
to the bath-room. “ What shall I do with my 
old clothes? I can’t get them into the bag.” 

“You don’t want to get them in the bag. 
If you do anything with them, throw them 
into the river : they are good for nothing.” 

“ You can throw them into the dirt-barrel,” 
said the barber, pointing to the back door of 
the shop. 

I gathered them up and put them into the 
barrel — everything except the pair of shoes 
Locke had given me. I put them into the bag 
with the rest of my extra things, for I thought 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


205 


I might wear them when I obtained a place 
to work. 

Mr. Buckminster paid the barber for the bath 
and for cutting my hair, and I followed him 
out into the street, wondering what the next 
step was to be. 

“ I should be glad to take you to my house, 
for my daughter wants to see you very much,” 
said my benevolent friend. 

“ I don’t want to go there,” I replied, 
bluntly. 

“You don’t? Why not?” asked Mr. Buck- 
minster, with evident surprise. 

“ I’m not used to going among such nice 
people, and I should be scared,” I pleaded. 

“You need not be alarmed, for my wife and 
daughter will treat you very kindly. We all 
feel that we owe you a debt we can never pay ; 
and you must let my daughter see the one who 
saved her.” 

“ O, I’m willing to see her some time ; but I 
don’t want to go among any great folks. I 
shouldn’t feel at home,” I added. 

“ I was going to say that I wanted to take 
you to my home, and have you stay there ; but 


206 


GOING WEST, OR 


my house is now undergoing repairs, and my 
family are staying at the residence of a friend 
of mine for a few days more,” continued Mr. 
Buckminster. “ I shall have to lodge you at a 
hotel until my house is finished, and then you 
must come and see us. I have engaged a room 
and board for you.” 

“ Thank you, sir ; you are very kind to me, 
and have done more for me than I deserve.” 

“ 1 have done nothing for you yet, Alexander, 
compared with what I intend to do.” 

“ I think 3 "OU have done enough, sir,” I 
added, glancing at my fine clothes. 

“ Here is the hotel,” he continued, leading 
the way into a small but neat house not far 
from the river. 

It looked very nice to me, though it was b}^ 
no means a first-class hotel. The landlord 
bowed low to Mr. Buckminster, and I had 
already come to the conclusion that he was a 
gentleman of considerable dignity and impor- 
tance in the place. We were conducted up 
one flight of stairs to a small, neatly-furnished 
room, whose only window overlooked the Hud- 


son. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 207 

“ This is your room, Alexander ; and you 
will live at this hotel for a few days,” said my 
friend. “ I shall see you every day, and you 
can amuse yourself by looking over the city, 
and seeing the various craft in the river.” 

“ I shall do first-rate here, sir,” I replied, 
with the feeling that I was quartered in a 
palace. “ I have had to Avork hard always, and 
I shall not complain of a rest of a few days.” 

“ Very well ; and to-morrow, I hope, my 
daughter will be able to see you, for to-day she 
is quite ill from the effects of the affair of this 
morning,” said Mr. Buckminster, seating him- 
self in one of the two chairs the room contained. 
“ Now, as we are alone, I want to talk with 
you a little about the future. What do you 
want to do ? ” 

“ I don’t know, sir. I expect to work and 
earn my own living,” I replied, seating mj^self 
at the window in the other chair. 

“But what do you desire to do — learn a 
trade, or go into a store ? ” 

“ Go into a store ! ” I exclaimed. “ I don’t 
know enough for that.” 

“ Then perhaps you had better go to school 
for a while.” 


208 


GOING WEST, OR 


/ 

“ I should like that first-rate,” I answered, 
with enthusiasm. 

“ Can you read and write?” 

‘“Yes, sir ; and I have studied arithmetic, 
geography, and grammar a little. But I can’t 
afford to go to school : I must earn my own 
living.” 

“ Perhaps we might manage that in some 
way,” said Mr. Buckminster, with a smile. 
“But before we make any plans for the future, 
we must consider that your manner of leaving 
your late employer was not quite regular.” 

“ I meant to leave him, any how,” I added. 

“Were you bound out to him?” 

“Not’s I know of.” 

I could give him no information in regard to 
my relations with Captain Boomsby, except that 
I was taken from the poor-house, to work for 
him for my board and clothes. 

“ I think he has a claim upon you for your 
services ; and it is better to look the matter 
fair in the face. Don’t you think, if I should 
pay him a few hundred dollars, he would re- 
lease you ? ” 

“ Perhaps so ; but I don’t believe he would. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


209 


If you let Captain Boomsby know where I am, 
it is all up with me.” 

W e talked for an hour on the subject ; and 
when he left me, I was very much alarmed at 
the course he intended to pursue, which was, 
to see my late tvrant, and, for a sum of money, 
induce him to release me. 


210 


GOING WEST, OB 


CHAPTER XIX. 

AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 

I HAD no faith in Mr. Buckminster’s plan. 

I had experienced enough of the malice 
of Captain Boomsby’s nature to realize that, if 
he thought I was living comfortably anywhere, 
he would not be satisfied. I had resisted him, 
and this was the most serious offence of which 
I could be guilty. I had made his son confess 
that he stole the quarter ; and this was laid 
up against me. I had received the sympathy 
of Barnes, and all the crew on board of the 
Great West, for which I was held responsible. 
I had seen the evil in the captain’s eye, and I 
feared that no appeal my friend could make 
would have any effect upon him. I was well 
aware that the tyrant loved money, but I had 
my doubts as to which was the stronger in his 
nature — avarice or revenge. I could not teU, 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 211 

and being well out of the fangs of the monster, 
I was determined not to trust him again. 
While I was thinking of it, Mr. Buckminster 
returned to my room. 

“ I forgot something,” said he. 

“ I am sorry to have you take so much 
trouble on my account,” I replied. 

“ Since I went out, I bought this for you,” 
he added, , handing me a very neat yellow 
wallet. 

“ What’s this for ? ” I inquired, taking the 
gift. 

“ To put your money in, of course.” 

“ I don’t think I have any use for it. I 
never had any money in my life but once ; and 
then only ten cents. I have no more use for a 
wallet than I have for a razor, though I may 
want both one of these days.” 

“ I was thinking, as I walked up to the 
house where my family are staying, that I 
should not be able to see you again to-day, for 
I have an engagement which may keep me 
till a late hour this evening ; and I didn’t know 
but you miglit want this wallet.” 

“ I haven’t any use for it, except to remind 


212 


GOING WEST, OR 


me how good you have been to me, sir,” I 
replied, “ and I don’t believe I shall ever need 
it even for that.” 

“ It seems to me, Alexander, that you talk 
altogether, above your condition. Nothing 
could be better expressed than the sentiment 
of your last remark,” said he, looking at me 
with something like astonishment on his face. 

If I did speak more fluently or more high- 
flown than I ought, I either inherited my 
speech from the parents I had never known, or 
learned it from the cultivated ladies who used 
to come to the poordiouse to instruct the chil- 
dren. I could not explain it, and no one had 
ever mentioned it to me before. I had a con- 
siderable vocabulary of sea and other slang, 
which I could not help using at times, and it 
is more than possible that 1 do not now accu- 
rately report my own speeches, as made at this 
early period. 

“ I didn’t know that I talked different from 
others,” I replied. 

“ There is something about you that I don’t 
quite understand,” he fidded. “ Do you like 
the wallet ? ” 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


213 


“ Yes, sir ; very much indeed.” 

“ But you have not looked inside of it ; per- 
haps you will not like it so well when you 
have examined it more carefully.” 

Rather because he suggested it, than because 
I cared very much for the useless toy, I opened 
the wallet. In one .of the pockets there were 
several bank bills, and in several others a 
quantity of small money. I blushed — why I 
have not the least idea. I had been accepting 
gifts from this gentleman all the afternoon, 
without hinting at an objection ; but somehow 
the money looked different to me, and I did 
not feel quite satisfied with myself. 

“ There is money in it,” I said ; and I think 
my embarrassment was apparent to him. 

“Yes, I put a little money in it, so that in 
walking about the town, if you saw anything 
you wanted, you might buy it,” replied Mr. 
Buckminster. 

“ I don’t like to take any money, sir.” 

“Don’t you, my lad? Why not?” 

“ Somehow it don’t seem to me to be just 
the thing.” 

“ But I assure you it is just the thing,” 


214 


GOING WEST, OR 


laughed my friend, as he walked towards the 
door. “ 1 may not be able to see you till 
nearly noon to-morrow, and I was not willing 
to leave you so that you could not buy an 
apple or a stick of candy, if you wanted such 
things.” 

“ I want to do something for you, sir, for all 
these things,” I added. “ I should like to 
work for you.” 

“You have already done ten times as much 
for me as I can ever do for you. One of these 
days, when you are older, you will understand 
me better. I must go now ; the money is but 
a trifle, and I wish you to spend it as freely 
as you please ; and when it is gone, you shall 
have some more. Of course, I mean that you 
should spend it in a proper manner. I hope 
you never take any strong drinks.” 

“ Never, sir.” 

“ Any beer or wine ? ” 

“ No, sir ; I never tasted of anything stronger 
than coffee, and never mean to,” I protested. 

“You may spend it freely for nuts, candy, 
and fruit, and go to any show there is in town. 
By the way, I believe there is a circus some- 


THE PERILS OP A POOR BOY. 


215 


where about here ; at least, I saw some hand- 
bills of some kind of an exhibition.” 

I had heard of the circus, but had never 
been to one, and the prospect of seeing such a 
show overcame all my scruples about taking 
the money. I put the wallet in my pocket ; 
and as Mr. Buckminster left the room, I prom- 
ised not to use one cent of the money for 
anything bad. Telling me to be at the hotel 
at eleven the next day, my generous friend took 
his leave of me. 

I got up and walked the room after he had 
gone. I looked at myself in the looking-glass. 
I thouglit my clotlies were very fine ; but what 
astonislied me most was my hair, parted at the 
side and frizzled at the ends. My face was 
very brown from exposure to the sun and the 
sea air ; but, thus improved by art, I ^ was 
willing to believe that I was not a bad-looking 
fellow. Then I walked across the room with 
my hands in my tro wsers pockets — a very bad 
habit ; but then it was not often that I had 
pockets to put my hands into, and I think I 
was excusable. Of course I could not help 
feeling the wallet. I had money in my pocket ; 


216 


©OING WEST, OR 


and this gave me a sensation I had never 
before experienced — for the ten cents I had 
once earned, I dared not cany with me for a 
longer period than thirty minutes. 

I did not know how rich I was ; and seating 
myself in my chair at the window, I proceeded 
to inquire into my financial condition. I had 
seen at least one bank bill, and I was sure that 
I had as much as one dollar, besides the small 
money. I took out the large bills first. I was 
almost overwhelmed when I saw that one of 
them was a five-dollar bill. Five dollars was a 
vast sum to me, and I began to feel as though 
I was in condition to scrape acquaintance with 
the New York millionaires^ of whom I heard 
some of the sailors on the wharf tell big stories, 
on my former voyage to the metropolis. But 
five dollars was not the total of my worldly 
wealth, and I continued the investigation. I 
found a two-dollar bill, and three ones, making 
up a grand total of ten dollars ! Ten dollars ! 
Astor, Vanderbilt, and Drew were beggars 
compared with me ! 

In the other pockets of the wallet I found 
three dollars in halves, quarters, and smaller 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


217 


money. Thirteen dollars ! I had heard of 
such sums, but had never seen anything of the 
kind before. Surely Mr. Buckminster was 
made of money, if he could afford to scatter it 
in this reckless manner. I was not a Poor 
Boy any longer. The skies had opened and 
rained down wealth upon me. What would 
Captain Boomsby say if he could see me at 
that moment ! What would he say if he could 
look into that wallet ! I was very glad he 
could not see me, and could not look into that 
wallet. 

I am afraid a great many vain and silly 
thoughts passed through my head, as I sat at 
the window, occasionally glancing out when a 
steamer or other craft passed on the river. Then 
I wondered what Mr. Buckminster was going to 
do with me. He talked of my going to 
school, learning a trade, or taking a place in a 
store. I was willing to be disposed of as he 
thought best, but the thought that he intended 
to see my old tyrant, and make a bargain with 
him to release me from his service, filled me 
with alarm. 1 was not willing that it should 
be done, and I had said so as plainly as I 


218 


GOING WEST, OR 


could speak. My new protector — though I 
can hardly call him a 7iew one, for I had never 
had a protector before — was firm on this point. 
He was evidently opposed to a boy’s running 
away under any circumstances ; but he had not 
my experience to enlighten him, and I believed 
that, under the same conditions, he would do 
as I had done or intended to do. 

He told me he could not countenance a run- 
away ; it was wrong for him to do so ; but he 
would pay even a thousand dollars if Captain 
Boomsby would release me. Though a thou- 
sand dollars was a mint of money even to my 
tyrant, I had heard him speak of such a sum 
rather cooly, and without manifesting any 
especial awe or reverence. I was afraid he had 
not the same respect for a thousand dollars that 
I had, or that he would not have it if called 
upon to abandon his anticipated revenge. The 
hands on the Great West were paid an average of 
about twenty dollars a month, at the time, and 
I was the equal of almost any one of them. It 
would be nine years before I was twenty-one, 
and at man’s wages on the vessel I should save 
him over two thousand. I went over this cal- 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 219 

culation several times, for I was much inter- 
ested in it. 

Even at half wages — and I could earn that, 
besides my board, working on a farm — the 
captain would make more than the thousand 
dollars out of me, always providing that I 
staid with him till I was of age. It did not 
seem to me that Captain Boomsby would re- 
lease me, even for the largest sum Mr. Buck- 
minster had named. I was really alarmed as I 
considered these matters. I was confident that 
my Newburgh friend would insist upon negotia- 
ing with the tyrant, and I was quite as sure 
that no bargain could be made. I was utterly 
dissatisfied with the prospect, for it seemed to 
me almost certain that I should be restored to 
Captain Boomsby, if I did not take the matter 
into my own hands. 

Mr. Buckminster was conscientious, and in- 
tended to do only what he considered right and 
necessary. Certainly his intentions were highly 
honorable, but he did not know ray tyrant as 
well as I did. I may as well confess that I 
had it in my mind to take my bag in my hand 
and leave Newburgh at once, without even bid- 


220 


GOING WEST, OR 


ding my good friend adieu. This would save 
him all trouble on my account. According to 
his own showing, he had not paid me a tenth of 
what he owed me, measured by his own 
standard of gratitude, so that I should not 
leave in his debt. But going off in this manner 
seemed to me very mean, and I could not 
reconcile myself to the step at that time. Still, 
1 was determined not to be made the subject 
of negotiation with the captain, for that would 
involve the telling him where I was. 

I decided to do nothing till the next day 
when I met Mr. Buckminster ; then, I would 
talk with him again on the subject, and if he 
persisted in carrying out his plan, why, I 
must look out for myself. Having come to 
this conclusion, I thought I would go out to 
walk. My room seemed to be very warm, or 
a super-abundance of clothing heated me, and 
I opened the window to let in the fresh air 
from the river. I had hardly done so before 
the door of my chamber was suddenly opened 
by the landlord, and at the same moment Cap- 
tain Boomsby stalked into the apartment, look- 
ing as ugly as when I had last seen him on 
the deck of the Great West. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


221 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE TYRANT ON THE OFFENSIVE. 

I NEED not say that I was startled at the 
unexpected appearance of my tyrant. It 
seemed to me more like an apparition than 
the real presence of the man whom I had so 
much reason to dread. Up to this moment I 
had not doubted that I was entirely clear of him, 
for I had no suspicion that he would follow and 
attempt to recover possession of me. How he 
came here was then a mystery to me, though I 
was able to solve it a few days afterwards. As 
this explanation will interest the reader more at 
this point than at any subsequent time, I give 
it now. As I did not obtain it from Captain 
Boomsby, I could only conjecture his motives 
and movements. 

It was not difficult for me to imagine how the 
master of the Great West felt when he saw the 


2*22 


GOING WEST, OR 


steamer moving off with me on board of her. 
Doubtless he feared that I might forget to 
return. He saw what I had done in saving Miss 
Buckminster from the muddy waters of the 
dock, and might well suppose .that the act would 
make some friends for me. I can readily imagine 
that, after waiting a reasonable time for me to 
come down from Twenty-Third Street, he went 
down into his cabin, “ slicked up ” a little, and 
then made his wa}'^ to the upper landing of the 
steamer. It is quite possible that he consulted 
the wharfinger, or other experts at the pier where 
his vessel lay, and even visited the office of the 
day-line of boats to Albany. 

Prepared by this information for prompt and 
decided action, doubtless he went to the Twenty- 
Third Street pier, and learned that no ragged, 
hatless, shoeless fellow like myself had landed 
there when the steamer stopped. The man in 
charge of the interests of the line, on the pier, 
would certainly know it, if I had landed. His 
next step was to take the express train on the 
Hudson River Railroad at half past ten, to Pough- 
keepsie, the only stopping-place' of this train, 
where he arrived in advance of the boat in 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


223 


which I had taken passage, at ten minutes 
before one. Of course he was very 'confident 
that he should be able to head me off at this 
point. When the steamer arrived, he hastened 
on board of her, and confronted the captain. I 
considered Captain Rowe my friend, and I kneAv 
he was interested in me. He understood enough 
of my story to see that my pursuer was not 
kindly disposed towards me, and it seemed like 
treachery for him to tell my tyrant what had 
become of me. 

Captain Rowe looked like an honest man, and 
I have no doubt he was one ; but he must have 
told Captain Boomsby what had become of me. 
I was sure that neither Locke nor Bennett would 
tell, if they had been steamed to death in their 
own boilers for not doing so. I suppose, how- 
ever, that Captain Rowe believed Mr. Buckmin- 
ster was fully able to take care of and protect 
me, and it was possible that my kind friend had 
explained to him his plans in regard to me, so 
that the captain supposed he should only help 
the business along by telling the simple truth. 
I cannot believe that the noble commander of 
that magnificent steamer was wilfully guilty of 


224 


GOING WEST, OR 


anything like treachery to me, for I know that 
he would have been glad to administer a little 
wholesome discipline to Captain Boomsby him- 
self. 

It is possible that some other person told my 
tyrant what had become of me ; but, as a mat- 
ter of fact. Captain Boomsby ascertained that I 
had landed at Newburgh. If he had not, he 
would not have gone there, and found me at 
the hotel. At twenty minutes past three, he took 
the train for Fishkill, which is on the river 
nearly opposite Newburgh. Crossing by the 
ferry, he had arrived soon after four. Doubtless 
the spectacle of an influential gentleman like 
Mr. Buckminster, conducting a dirty, ragged 
boy, such as I was when I landed, attracted the 
attention of all the loafers and hangers-on about 
the pier; and there was a multitude of them, 
as I had observed myself. Very likely some of 
these idlers had taken interest enough in my 
affairs to follow us to the stores and to the 
barber’s shop. There were enough of them 
hanging around to collect and put together the 
different parts of the transaction, if no one or 
more of them watched it to a conclusion. How- 


THE PERirS OF A POOR BOY. 


225 


ever this may be, I had abundant proof in the 
presence of Captain Boomsby to assure me that 
he had been able to trace me to my present 
abode. 

As I have remarked before, he looked ugly ; 
but there was also a gleam of triumph in his 
sunken eye, such as I had often seen before in 
his expression, when he thought he had me in 
a particularly tight place. After chasing me all 
day, and investing several dollars in the 
search, I have no doubt he experienced a very 
strong and malignant satisfaction in the act of 
finding me. It would have been no. more than 
human for him to have such a sensation, though 
it belonged only to his low type of humanity. 
He looked at me ; he frowned, and a kind of 
diabolical smile played on his lips. 

I did not like the looks of him, and from his 
ugly face I glanced at the window I had just 
opened. Beneath it was the roof of a low piazza, 
which surrounded the hotel, and afforded a very 
pleasant resort for loafers that smoked, and 
loafers that did not smoke. My bag lay upon 
the foot of the bed, within reach of the window 
— and I was a sailor, used to going aloft, and 


226 


GOING WEST, OR 


climbing in all sorts of difficult places. Though 
I did not immediately jump out at the window, 
I could not help considering the possibilities of 
the time and place. Desperate as the situation 
seemed to be at first, a second thought saved 
me from despair. 

The landlord had shown my tyrant up to my 
room. As soon as he opened the door. Captain 
Boomsby, as I have said, stalked into the room. 
But Mr. Van Eyck, the host, did not seem to 
be quite satisfied with the movements of the 
visitor. Perhaps he thought it was a shade too 
familiar for him to walk into my chamber with- 
out an invitation from the occupant thereof. It 
is probable that the landlord did not suspect 
anything wrong till the captain unceremoniously 
pushed by him, and stalked into the room ; I 
say “ stalked,” because he came into my apart- 
ment with a very haughty and offensive air ; at 
least, it must have seemed so to Mr. Van Eyck, 
who had not seen me in my dirt and rags, and 
had treated me with respect and consideration. 
Doubtless he believed the visitor had exceeded 
the bounds of propriety, and was getting ahead 
of him. In order to restore the proper relation 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 227 

between himself and the captain, and place 
himself in a position to command the situation, 
in case of Heed, he stepped into the room, and 
halted between my tyrant and me. 

“ You are cutting it fat here,” said Captain 
Boomsby, surveying me critically from head to 
foot, as I stood by the window. 

I had the opportunity to guess what my ty- 
rant thought of my personal appearance in my 
new rig, and the effect was full as tremendous 
as I had imagined. By this time I had col- 
lected my thoughts, and braced up my nerves, 
as we used to brace up the yards, to meet the 
shock of whatever might come. I had learned 
by hard experience that nothing was to be 
gained, but much lost, by quailing in the pres- 
ence of this cowardly tyrant, and I tried not 
to quail, though I had been “taken all aback” 
by his sudden appearance. 

“ I have found some good friends,” I replied, 
commanding myself so as to give an easy, quiet 
answer. 

“ That suit of clothes will just fit Nicholas 
after he has grown another year,” continued 
Captain Boomsby, still studying the material 
and finish of my new suit. 


228 


GOING WEST, OR 


“ It will depend upon how much he grows in 
a year,” I answered. 

“ I didn’t expect to find you all prinked up 
like this, Sandy ; but I don’t object,” chuckled 
the tyrant. “ Them traps can all be put to a 
good use. I suppose you have plenty of money 
in your pocket.” 

“ I have some,” I replied, with dangerous can- 
dor. 

“ Perhaps you’d better hand it over to me 
before you lose any on’t,” said the captain, ex- 
tending his hand ; whereat the landlord stepped 
up a little nearer to the scene of action. “ I 
thought whether or no yon wouldn’t get some- 
thing for picking up that gal, so I should git 
enough to pay my expenses, if I came up here 
after you. Fork over, Sandy.” 

“ I think not,” I answered. 

“Won’t do it, eh? Barnes ain’t here now,” 
chuckled the captain. 

I was painfully conscious of the fact, though 
I had some hope of the landlord, who was a 
wiry, if not a large man; and I thought he- 
meant business, as he watched the interview. 

“ What I have was given me for my own 
use,” I ventured to suggest. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


229 


“ Sandy, I’m your lawful guardeen, and 
what’s yours belongs to me. You hain’t got 
no right to a single cent you make, without I 
give it to you; so hand over the money.” 

“No, sir; I won’t do it,” I replied, decided- 
ly, for I knew it was no use to temporize Avith 
him. 

“ Then you are go’n to make me take the 
money away from you,” added Captain Booms- 
by, pulling up the sleeves of his coat. 

I took my bag from the foot of the bed, in 
readiness for the next movement of the tragedy, 
or farce, as it might turn out to be. Whether 
the tyrant thought I had a knife or a pistol in 
this bag, I know not, but he stepped back a 
pace, and looked at me. 

“Got a travelling bag — have you, Sandy?” 
said he, with a sickly grin. “ Well, all them 
things will come in handy for my wife or the 
gals, for that’s altogether too fine for a feller 
like you.” 

“ It will answer for me very well.” 

“ I don’t believe it will ! ” sneered he. You’ve 
got fixed up pretty nice ; had your hair ’iled and 
parted and smell like an essence peddler! A 


280 


GOING WEST, OR 


clean shirt and a white collar ! A neck-han’- 
kercher like the bos’n a man-o’war ! Well, if 
these things won’t fit Nicholas this year, they will 
next. He’ll grow to ’em. I shouldn’t wonder if 
that han’kercher’d go round my neck.” 

One made of hemp would suit you better,” 
I replied, incautiously and improperly ; but I 
was stung by the cool expression of his inten- 
tion to rob me of my new clothes. 

“ That’s sassy,” said Captain Boomsby, hardly 
disturbed by the smile on the face of the 
landlord. “But no matter; we’ll settle all 
that by and by, with the rest of the recknin’. 
What you done with your old clothes, Sandy? ” 

“ I put them in the dirt barrel, with the rest 
of the dirt.” 

“ So much the worse for you, for you’ll 
want ’em. You may not be able to git any 
again as good as them was.” 

“ I shall not be likely to get any worse.” 

“ Now, may be you will ; and' you was a 
wasteful critter to throw them trousers away, 
and it’s lucky for you that you left the coat on 
the deck of the vessel. But I guess we are 
wastin’ time. We shall have to take the train 



Stop. Sir ! ” said the Landlord.” Taife 231 










THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


231 


on t’other side of the river about eight o’clock. 
I suppose we can git some supper here — can’t 
we, landlord ? ” 

“We have supper at six o’clock,” replied 
Mr. Van Eyck, coldly. 

“How much money have you got, Sandy?” 
asked Captain Boomsby, turning to me again. 

“ What I have belongs to me,” I answered, 
evasively. 

“ I guess not,” said the tyrant, shaking his 
head. “ If you won’t tell me. I’ll count it for 
myself;” and he made a movement towards 
me. 

“ Stop, sir I ” said the landlord, stepping be- 
tween us, as I was on the point of going out 
the window. “ If you intend to rob this 
young gentleman in my house, there’s going to 
be a fight before you do it.” 

Barnes was not there, but Van Eyck was 
plucky enough for the occasion, and I put my 
bag on the chair by the window, in readiness 
to take a hand in any conflict that might en- 
sue. Captain Boomsby looked at the landlord, 
and appeared to be surprised at his interference. 


232 


GOING WEST, OR 


CHAPTER XXI. 

A USELESS DISCUSSION. 

I HAVE no doubt that Captain Boomsby 
honestly believed that he owned me, body 
and soul ; that all I had, all that was given to 
me, all that I earned, all that I wore, or had 
in my possession, however I came by it, belonged 
to him. The suggestion of the landlord that lie 
intended to rob me, the captain considered as 
absurd as it was startling, beyond a question. 
I think the captain really believed that I had no 
rights of any kind which he was bound to re- 
spect. Possibly he did not consider himself at 
liberty to kill me, at least not for any ordinary 
offence ; but anything short of this, in the way 
of discipline, was entirely proper. With this 
view of my relations to him. Captain Boomsby 
was evidently surprised at any interference from 
the landlord ; and I knew that he had no taste 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


233 


for a fight with any one, except a boy or a 
cripple. 

“ Rob this young gentleman ! ” exclaimed the 
captain ; and the charge of an attempt to rob 
was hardly less offensive than calling me a 
“ young gentleman.” 

“ It seems to me that is what you were going 
to do,” added Mr. Van Eyck. “ You were 
going to take his money away from him by 
force. You can’t do anything of that sort in 
my house. The young gentleman is under my 
protection.” 

“ The young gentleman ! ” gasped my tyrant ; 
and, on the whole, I think that this term applied 
to me was rather worse than being accused of 
an attempt to plunder me. “ Do you mean that 
boy?” 

“ Of course I do : he was the one you were 
going to rob.” 

“ Do you call him a young gentleman ? ” 

“ I do. He behaves like a gentleman ; and 
that’s more than I can say of you.” 

Captain Boomsby winced. The idea of con- 
trasting his conduct with mine ! 

“ Do you know what that boy is ? ” demanded 


234 


GOING WEST, OK 


he, his indignation beginning to get the better 
of his surprise. 

“ I only know that he is a guest in my house, 
and he shall be treated like a gentleman,” re- 
torted the landlord. 

“ A gentleman ! Why, he is a hand before 
the mast in my vessel — the schooner Great 
West.” 

“ Perhaps he is ; I don’t care anything about 
that. If he looks like a gentleman and behaves 
like one, he is just as good as the governor of 
New York, in this hotel.” 

“ That boy belongs to me,” added Captain 
Boomsby. 

“ Belongs to you ! Are you his father ? ” 

“ No ; I’m not his father ; but I’m his guar- 
deen. I took him out of the poor-house ; and 
he’s to work for me for his board and clothes 
till he’s twenty-one.” 

“I don’t know you, sir.” 

“ That boy knows me, if you don’t.” 

“ I don’t know anything about the case, and 
don’t care. If the young gentleman wants to go 
to New York with you, I don’t prevent him from 
doing so,” said the landlord. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


235 


“But you want to prevent me from taking 
him with me,” growled my tyrant. “ He’s got 
a lot of money that b’longs to me.” 

“ Did you give it to him ? ” 

“ That don’t make no difference. What he’s 
got belongs to me.” 

“ I don’t know you ; and all I’ve got to say 
is, that you can’t meddle with the young gen- 
tleman in my house.” 

“ But I tell you I’m his guardeen,” protested 
Captain Boomsby. 

“Can you prove it? Have you any papers 
to show for it ? ” demanded the landlord, rather 
impatiently. 

“ Of course I don’t carry my papers with me, 
for I didn’t know he was going to run away.” 

“ It’s no use to say anything more about it. 
I don’t know you ; and I shall see that no harm 
comes to the young gentleman while he is in 
my hotel.” 

“ I’ve come up here after this boy ; and I’m 
not going back without him,” added my tyrant, 
obstinately ; and I did not believe he would, if 
he could possibly avoid it. 

“You can do as you like about that,’.’ said the 


236 


GOING WEST, OR 


landlord. “ The young gentleman was brought 
here by Mr. Buckminster, one of the richest 
and most influential men in Newburgh ; and 
I’m responsible to him for the young gentle- 
man.” 

“ I don’t know nothin’ about Mr. Buckmin- 
ster ; and I don’t care how rich he is. He ain’t 
rich enough to tread me under his heel,” blus- 
tered the captain. 

“ He wants to see you. Captain Boomsby,” 
I interposed. 

“ Who wants to see me ? ” 

“ Mr. Buckminster.” 

“ What does he want of me ? ” 

“ He would like to pay you something for 
releasing me.” 

“ Do you hear that ? ” demanded Captain 
Boomsby, turning, to the landlord. Don’t that 
look as though the boy belonged to me ? ” 

“I don’t pretend to settle the rights of the 
case,” replied Mr. Van Eyck. “ You can’t med- 
dle with the young gentleman in my house. . If 
Mr. Buckminster wants to see you. I’ll send for 
him to come down here and meet you.” 

“ I don’t want to see him : I’ve nothing to 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


237 


do with him. The boy belongs to me, and I 
want him — that’s all.” 

“ Perhaps he will buy out your interest in the 
young man,” suggested the landlord, taking his 
cue from what I had said. 

“ He will pay you a lot of money to release 
me,” I added, hoping to reach him through his 
cupidity. 

“ Don’t talk to me, Sandy,” said he, fixing a 
savage glance upon me. “ I don’t want to sell 
out! After what’s happened this man hain’t 
got money enough to buy me out. We hain’t 
settled up old scores yet. It’s got out all over 
Gloss’nb’ry that my boy’s a thief through your 
going’s on, you rascal.” 

“ He stole the money ; I didn’t do it ; and it’s 
his own fault. You had me arrested for it, and 
Nicholas confessed before the justice that he 
took the quarter,” I replied, more for the infor- 
mation of the landlord than because I wished to 
provoke my tyrant. 

“ It was all your doin’s, any way. Then folks 
say you got the better o’ me, and made me let 
you alone. I don’t let you go till I get even 
with you,” said the captain, shaking his head to 
emphasize his wrath. 


238 


GOING WEST, OR 


This was a new revelation to me. I was not 
aware that my tyrant was suffering from “ the 
speech of people,” on account of what had trans- 
pired in the court and in the barn ; but what 
he said was a sufficient key to his savage treat- 
ment of me on board of the Great West. His 
involuntary explanation, made in his anger, only 
increased my repugnance to return with him to 
the vessel. I was determined not to do so, and 
I was confirmed in my opinion that the negotia- 
tion which Mr. Buckminster proposed, would 
result in no good to me. 

“ Don’t you be impudent to me, Sandy,” said 
the captain, in reply to my plain and simple 
statement of the facts. The day of reck’nin’s 
cornin’, and the more you pile up, the wus it 
will be for you.” 

I had no doubt of this, if he succeeded in 
getting me away from my new friend ; and I 
made no reply. 

“ This thing has gone far enough,” interposed 
the landlord. 

“You have heard what he says, landlord, and 
you can judge from 'his talk that he’s my boy,” 
replied Captain Boomsby, considerably excited. 


THE PERnL,S OF A POOR BOY. 239 

“ I want the money in his pocket that belongs 
to me, and then I want him.” 

“ I must go down stairs and attend to my 
business, and I don’t want to hear any more of 
it,” added Mr. Van Eyck. 

“You can go,” sneered the captain. 

“ This room belongs to the young gentleman 
and you must leave it,” said the landlord, very 
decidedly. 

“Leave it? Leave that hoy to get away from 
me ? Not if I know myself,” protested the 
captain. 

“Well, sir, if I know myself, you don’t stay 
here more than one minute longer,” retorted the 
landlord, rolling up his sleeves, with a very 
decided indication of business. “ If I have to put 
you out, I shall hand you over to the police 
for disturbing my house.” 

“ That’s rather rough,” added Captain Booms- 
by, more mildly. 

“ Mr. Buckminsten has the charge of the young 
gentleman. He brought him here, and I don’t 
know anybody but him in this business. If you 
want to see him. I’ll send for him ; and that’s 
aU I can do,” continued Mr. Van Eyck, placing 
himself directly in front of my tyrant. 


240 


GOING WEST, OK 


“ Well, I guess I’d better see him,” added the 
captain, unwillingly adopting the only safe alter- 
native, and backing out of the room. 

“ You should always lock your door, young 
man,” said the landlord, significantly, as he fol- 
lowed the visitor out of the room. 

I immediately locked the door, and realized 
that I was alone again. Though I was now well 
dressed, and had money in my pocket, I felt 
that I was still a poor boy, and never in greater 
peril than at this moment, for nothing could 
possibly be more terrible to me, than being 
carried back to the Great West and the 
miseries of my former home. The landlord 
would send for Mr. Buckminster ; but, as that 
gentleman had told me, he had an engagement, 
and the chances were that the messenger would 
not find him. Even if he did, I had no hope 
that any good result would come of the inter- 
view. What should I do ? This was the most 
interesting question I could put to myself. I 
was under the impression that Captain Boomsby 
had the legal right to take me away witli him, 
though I knew little or nothing about law. 

I had already said enough in the presence of 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOZ. 241 

Mr. Van Eyck, to satisfj^ any one that I had 
lived with the captain ; and I was afraid he 
would be able to make out a case against me, 
in spite of Mr. Buckminster and the landlord. 
Though I could not understand how the case 
was to be brought to an issue, I had the idea 
that it was to be settled somewhere, and by 
authority. If Captain Boomsby insisted upon 
taking me away by the eight o’clock train, a 
row was inevitable, for the landlord was plucky 
enough to interfere. He had spoken of the 
police, which suggested the course of proceed- 
ing, and my tyrant might be able to make out 
his case. I did not like the situation, present 
or prospective. 

But 1 had not been alone five minutes before 
some one tried the door and found that it was 
locked. I wondered who it could be. The 
knob had not been rudely grasped, as Captain 
Boomsby would have done it ; and I concluded 
that it was the landlord, who had come up 
again to see that I was still secure. I waited 
a mcttient, and then I heard a gentleman knock 
on the door. My tyrant would not have knocked 
BO softly as that; he would have hit the pannel 
16 


242 


GOING WEST, OR 


as he chopped wood. He would have done it in 
the imperative mood. I thought, therefore, that 
it was the landlord, coming to tell me what to 
do next. Very likely he had come to take me 
to some secure place, where Captain Boomsby 
could not find me. He could lead me down the 
back stairs, and send me to the house of some 
friend, until Mr. Buckminster and my tyrant 
had settled the business. I was so sure I had 
correctly divined the intentions of Mr. Van Eyck, 
that I put on my hat and took my bag in my 
hand, so that there should not be an instant’s 
delay on my part in carrying out his plan. I 
opened the door. 

I had made a wretched blunder. It was Cap- 
tain Boomsby. I had forgotten that he was as 
cunning as he was cruel and malicious. Though 
I opened the door very cautiously, and only a 
few inches, the great cow-hide boot of the cap- 
tain was instantly placed against it, so that I 
could not close it again. In spite of my efforts 
to prevent him from doing so, he pushed the 
door open, and I was compelled to retreat 
towards the window. My tyrant entered the 
chamber, closed and locked the door behind him ; 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


243 


then he paused and bestowed upon me a glance 
of malicious triumph. 

“ Sandy, you are going back to New York 
with me to-night,” said he. 

“ Do you think so ? ” I replied, not knowing 
what else to say. 

“ I know it. The landlord has gone off some- 
where, after that Mr. Buckminster, I reckon. 
You won’t be here when he comes back. You’ll 
go down those stairs, and out the front door, 
down to the ferry. If you don’t do it. I’ll 
choke the life out of you ! ” he added ; and I 
never saw him look quite so savage. “ Will 
you do it, or shall I shake you up a little 
first?” 

I concluded neither to do it nor to be shaken 
up. I sprang out the window upon the piazza, 
and ran upon the roof to the farthest end of 
it. I did not stop to see whether Captain 
Boomsby followed me, for I turned a corner 
and lost sight of him. I heard him caU upon me 
to stop, but I did not heed him. 


244 


GOING WEST, OR 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE YOUNG BOATMAN. 

I HAD turned two corners, and reached the 
rear of the hotel. From the piazza I jumped 
down two feet upon a shed, the eaves of which 
were not more tlian six feet from the ground. 
I dropped my hag, and was preparing to follow 
it, when I heard a tremendous crash of pine 
boards, as though the whole piazza, over which 
I had just passed, had been broken down ; but 
this was not the case, for what I could see of 
it was still in position. I did not deem it pru- 
dent, however, to delay my escape ; and, slid- 
ing off the eaves of the shed, to the great peril 
of my new clothes, I “ hung off,” reaching the 
solid earth in safety. 

I found myself in the back-yard of the hotel, 
where the wood-pile, the swill-tub, and the dirt- 
barrel were kept. I had no business with these 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


245 


things ; and, assuring myself that no one had 
followed me on the piazza, I hastened to the 
gate in the board fence, which opened into the 
street running at right angles with the one on 
which was the front of the hotel. 

It was a narrow thoroughfare, and appeared to 
be deserted. I stepped out at the gate, and 
crossed this street. I saw that quite a crowd 
had gathered in front of the house, and the first 
person I had recognized was the landlord. He 
was excitedly pointing to the roof of the piazza, 
and, looking up, I saw what had occasioned the 
crash I had heard. In the roof was a great 
ragged hole, beneath the window of my room. 

When I walked over that piazza it had occurred 
to me that it was a very shaky structure, for 
the boards creaked and yielded under my feet, 
as though I had weighed a ton. It was evi- 
dently built in the frailest manner, and only to 
keep the sun off the people below. It was 
simply boarded up and down, with battens over 
the cracks. In the crowd I saw Captain Boomsby, 
in whose face the landlord was shaking the fist 
of his left arm, while he pointed at the break 
above with the other. It was plain to me then 


246 


GOING WEST, OR 


that my tyrant had followed me out of the 
window. He was heavier than I, and had probably 
stepped less gently. The slender roof had caved 
in beneath him, dropping him upon the platform 
below. I inferred that the landlord had not 
gone away, as the captain said he had, doubt- 
less intending to deceive me. 

I was so interested in this scene, I forgot, for 
the moment, that I was a fugitive. No one 
noticed me, for everybody was listening to the 
animated dialogue between the landlord and my 
late visitor. Among the crowd I saw a man 
whom I supposed to be a policeman. I wanted 
to hear what was said, and I crossed the narrow 
street again, in order to secure a position at the 
corner of the hotel, where I could beat a hasty 
retreat if necessary. 

“ I tell you that was my boy. He belongs to 
me ! ” said my tyrant. 

“ You broke into his room, and tried to rob 
him of his money ! ” replied the landlord, warmly. 
“ You had no more business there than you had 
in my chamber.” 

“ The boy belongs to me, and that’s enough,” 
retorted the captain. “ ’Tain’t no use to talk 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 247 

of robbing him. But while you’re jawing here, 
he’s getting away from me.” 

“Don’t let him go, officer,’ protested Mr. 
Van Eyck, as the captain attempted to break 
through the crowd. 

I saw the policeman, or whatever he was, put 
his hand on my tyrant’s shoulder. 

“ Are you going to take me up ? ” demanded 
Captain Boomsby. 

“You broke into that room in the hotel,” 
said the officer. 

“ No, I didn’t ; my boy let me in.” 

“ He would have taken the young man’s 
money away from him by force, if I hadn’t 
interfered,” added the landlord. 

“ I had a right to take it from him,” answered 
the captain. “ I want the boy ; he’ll tell you 
how it is.” 

“ I don’t want my guests driven out of the 
hotel by people who have no right in the house. 
Mr. Buckminster brought the boy to me ; and 
he’s the one that saved his daughter when she 
fell overboard in New York this morning,” con- 
tinued the landlord. 

“ Mr. Constable, you’d better look up the boy, 


248 


GOING WEST, OR 


and then you’ll find it’s all right,” persisted the 
captain. 

Though I was very much interested in the 
dispute, I did not consider it prudent for me to 
remain and hear any more of it. I retreated up 
the narrow street leading away from the river. 
I soon came to a broader avenue, in which a 
considerable number of people were passing to 
and fro. They took no notice of me, and did 
not seem to suspect that I had just escaped from 
a great peril. I did not tell them, but taking 
my place in the crowd, I walked along towards 
the north. I was not going anywhere in par- 
ticular, my only motive being to get as far away 
as possible from Captain Boomsby. I travelled 
at a rapid rate, looking behind me occasionally, 
to assure myself that the captain of the Great 
West was not following me. I did not see either 
him or the landlord, or any one who appeared 
to be the least concerned about my affa,irs. It 
seemed to me Mr. Van Eyck had made out so 
good a case that the officer would have to com- 
mit Captain Boomsby for “breaking and enter- 
ing,” though he had certainly broken out rather 
than in. 


THE PERILS OF L POOR BOY. 


249 


I did not worry about what would become of 
my tyrant. I was satisfied that, if arrested, Mr. 
Buckminster would procure his release, in the 
morning, if not before, for there waS no malice 
in his nature, and he would know that the cap- 
tain’s story was true, as the officer seemed to 
suspect it was. I was sorry not 'to see my kind 
friend again ; but I dared not attempt to visit 
him, or to wait till he came to the hotel for me 
the next day. I had been compelled to take 
this decisive step, and I felt that my only safety 
was in flight. After I had walked a while, I 
saw that there was a road on the bank of the 
river below me. 1 was out of the central part 
of the city, and the houses were now quite scat- 
tered. I crossed to the river road, and con- 
tinued to walk towards the north. 

I could not help comparing my condition with 
what it was when I found myself on board of 
the steamer, after I had saved Miss Buckminster. 
I was neatly and comfortably clothed, with shoes 
on my feet, a hat on my head, and a bag in my 
hand. I had thirteen dollars in cash in my 
pocket, and, as long as I was out of Captain 
Boomsby’s reach, it did not make much difference 


250 


GOING WEST, OR 


to me that I was a fugitive. I had no crime 
on my conscience. 

But I could not remain long without a pur- 
pose ; and as I trudged on my way, 1 could not 
help thinking that I was lieaded towards Albany. 
I thought of the Great West — not the schooner, 
but the country ; and very soon it was impressed 
upon my mind that I was Going West. I had 
had this region in my mind when I first thought 
of breaking away from the cruel slavery in 
which I had lived from my early childhood. I 
was “going west,” and this idea was soon so 
firmly fixed in my mind that I thought no more 
of the events which had transpired in Newburgh. 
Forgetting the past, I looked forward to a bright 
future in the land of promise. 

I had gone but a short distance after I real- 
ized that I had a new purpose, when my at- 
tention was attracted by a sail-boat which 
appeared to have been thrown almost out of the 
water, on the gravelly shore of the river. By 
her bow was a boy, about my own age, who 
seemed to be greatly perplexed, and I concluded 
that he had run her ashore by accident. He 
was very well dressed, and his face was so 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


251 


white and delicate, I concluded that he was 
some gentleman’s son. I stopped in the road to 
look at him for a moment, and conjecture what 
his trouble was, if I could. I saAV him put his 
shoulder to the bow of the boat and try -to push 
her off, but she was too heavy for his strength. 
I was out of talking distance of him, and I 
walked down the slope to the shore. 

“ What’s the matter, my boy ? ” I asked. 

“ I can’t get my boat off,” he replied, with an 
anxious glance at me. / 

“ She’s almost high and dry ; how did you get 
her so far out of the water ? ” 

“ I suppose I got frightened,” he answered, 
with rather a sickly smile. “ The wind was 
blowing very hard, and I thought she was going 
to tip over. I steered for the shore ; and when 
the boat began to grate on the bottom, a big 
steamer came along, and her swash carried me 
up here. She stuck and I can’t move her.” 

“ If the wind blows too hard for you, why 
don’t you lei her remain where she is ? ” I sug- 
gested. 

“ It don’t blow quite so hard as it did, I 
think ; but I wish I had some one with me that 
knew more about a boat than I do.” 


252 


GOING WEST^ OB 


“Why do you come out in a boat if you don't 
know how to manage her ? ” 

“ I do know how pretty well ; but somehow 
she didn’t work just right to-day. I don’t think 
I was ever out when it blew so hard as it did 
half an hour ago. I have sailed the boat up and 
down the river a great deal, and thought I knew 
all about her.” 

“ Where do you live ? ” 

“In that white house down the river,” he 
replied, pointing to an elegant mansion on the 
other side. 

“ What’s your name ? ” I continued, perhaps 
with more “ Down East ” curiosity than I ought 
to have manifested. 

“ Ellis D 3 'keman. What’s yours ? ” 

“Mine’s Alick Duddleton,” I replied, choosing 
a new short name for myself ; but I was sorry 
a moment later that 1 had given my name. 

“ Where are you going, Alick ? ” he asked, 
apparently ready to make friends with me at 
once. 

“ Up the river,” I replied. 

“ Are you going on foot ? ” he inquired, with 
more interest than I thought the occasion re- 
quired. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


253 


“ I was going to walk till I came to a terry.” 

“You will walk a- long way before you come 
to one, going in that direction.” 

“ If you want to put this craft in to the water, 
I’ll help you, my boy,” I added. “ Between us 
both, I guess we can float her.” 

“ I was going to get her into the water, and 
then wait till the wind didn’t blow quite so hard 
as it does now,” said he, rather doubtfully, as he 
looked at the white caps on the river ; and it 
seemed to have breezed up a little more since I 
joined him. 

“ It don’t blow hard at all, my lad,” I re- 
plied. 

“ It blows too hard for me.” he added, shak- 
ing his head. “But the tide is going out, and 
I want to get the boat into the water before it 
is any lower.” 

“ All right, Ellis, my hearty,” I continued, . 
putting my bag on a rock. “ Have you an 
anchor on board of your craft ? ” 

“ Of course I have ; I wouldn’t go to sea 
without an anchor.” 

“Go to sea ! Do you caU it going to sea to 
sail on this river ? ” 

“ It’s all the same thing.” 


254 


GOING WEST, OR 


He threw over the anchor, and I stuck one 
of the flukes into the gravel, so as to prevent 
the boat from going adrift when she was 
launched. 

“ Is your cable fast ? ” I asked. 

“ My what ? ” 

“Your cable, the anchor rope.” 

“ O ! Yes.” 

We placed our shoulders at the bow of the 
boat ; but she was too much even for both of us. 
I found a piece of joist on the beach, and using 
this as a lever, I worked the boat down till her 
stern was afloat ; and then we easily shoved her 
off. The shore was very bold, so that we could 
step into her from the dry ground ; and I was 
the first to do so, for I wanted to examine the 
craft. 


THE PERHiS OF A POOR BOY. 


255 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

A GRAND EXPEDITION. 

HE sail-boat was a finer craft than I had 



I ever seen before. Slie was sloop-rigged, 
about twenty feet long, and eight feet beam — 
rather too large for a boy of Ellis Dykeman’s 
strength to handle easily. Forward she had a 
goodTsized cuddy, or cabin, in which were two 
berths, with regular beds all made up in them ; 
and this seemed like a piece of nonsense to me. 
The standing room was rather small for a craft 
of her length, the space which properly belonged 
to it having been given to the cuddy, where it was 
less needed. She was lined with hard wood of 
different colors, and richly ornamented with brass 
work. I liked the shape of the boat very much, 
for she looked as though she would ' sail fast, 
and keep right side up. 

When I had looked her over on deck and in 


256 


GOING WEST, OR 


the standing room, I crawled into the cuddy. 
Though it took up so much of the boat’s space, 
it was still not very large. Pursuing my investi- 
gations, I found this cabin was filled up in every 
locker and vacant space with provisions and 
stores. Paper bags filled with ship-biscuit, crack- 
ers, and baker’s bread, bundles of beefsteak, 
mutton chops, fish, ham, and vegetables, were 
deposited in every available space. Forward of 
the mast were an open furnace and a keg of 
charcoal, which might be used on shore or on 
deck for cooking, but not in the cuddy without 
stifling the steward. On one of the berths were 
an overcoat and a shawl, and under it was a pair 
of rubber boots. 

It seemed to me that the boat was provisioned 
for a three weeks’ cruise ; and I could not 
imagine for what purpose all these eatables were 
provided. The young boatman was almost within 
hail of his own home, and did not dare to sail 
her in even a tolerably stiff breeze. However, 
the boat was a beautiful craft, and I could not 
help admiring her. Small as she was, she had 
a little horizontal wheel for steering apparatus, 
which was a new thing to me, and so strange 
that I spent some time in examining it. 


THE PERT S OF A POOR BOY. 


257 


“Well how do you like her, Alick?” asked 
the boatman. 

“ First rate ; nothing could be better,” I replied. 
“ Who owns her ? ” 

“I do.” 

“You? You mean your father.” 

“No I don’t. My father gave her to me last 
summer, as a birth-day present.” 

“ Do you sail her yourself ? ” 

“ Sometimes I do ; but the boatman is generally 
with me.” 

I thought so, but I did not care to undervalue 
his ability by saying so. 

“ Why do you come out without him when 
the wind was so fresh ? ” I asked. 

“ I didn't know it blew so hard. Don’t you 
think it blows too hard for her now ? ” 

“Not a bit of it ! I’ll sail her for you if you 
like,” I volunteered. 

“ Do you know how ? ” 

“Do I ? I’m a sailor.” 

I might have added that all sailors were by 
no means boatmen ; but I was both, for I had 
had considerable experience in managing sail- 
boats, and 1 believed I understood the business 
as well as any yachtman. (17) 


258 


GOING WEST, OR 


“ All right, Alick ; I should like to have you 
very much,” added Ellis, coming on hoard of 
the Seabird, for that was her name, though there 
is not much pickle in the Hudson above West 
Point. 

I took off the stops of the mainsail, which 
were tied up in “ granny knots,” and, with the 
assistance of Ellis, hoisted the sail. We got in 
the anchor, and while the boatman was stowing 
it forward I hoisted the jib, and got under way. 
The boat darted off like a race-horse, under the 
influence of the fresh breeze. The wind was 
north-west, and I let off the sheet till I had the 
Seabird before it. The way she spun along 
astonished me, for I had never handled one of 
these fast boats or even been in one. 

“ I don’t want to go this way,” said Ellis, 
vehemently, rising from the cuddy, where he 
had been stowing away the anchor. 

“ Didn’t you say that white house was your 
father’s ? ” I asked, pointing to the mansion on 
the other side and down the river. 

That’s my house ; but I don’t want to go 
home,” he protested warmly. 

“Don’t you? Where do you want to go?” 

“ Up the river.” ' 


I 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 259 

“ But, my hearty, it’s almost dark, and you 
won’t get home till late, if you go up the river,” 
I remonstrated. 

“ I don’t care ; I want to go up the river,” 
insisted the young boatman. 

“ All right, my lad. This boat is yours, and 
you shall go where you please in her,” I replied, 
putting down the helm, and hauling in the 
sheet. 

“ That’s what I want,” added Ellis Dykeman. 

“ I’m bound up the river.” 

As the river bears a little to the eastward 
above Newburgh, I found I could laj^ a course, 
and still have the Seabird go tolerably free. As 
the wind was flawy, I held the sheet, with a 
turn over the cleat, in one hand, and managed 
the horizontal wheel with the other. I got the 
hang of the steering gear in a few moments, and 
liked it very much. It was nothing but fun to 
handle that craft ; and it seemed to me that I 
could do it all night without winking. 

“ She works like a top,” I said, as the boat 
dashed rapidly on her course up the river, the 
spray flying over her bows. 

“ She is a nice boat,” replied Ellis ; but I 


260 


GOING WEST, OR 


suspected from his tone and manner that he did 
not feel quite at home in her. 

It was simply lively sailing, yet to one not 
much accustomed to a boat, it was too exciting 
to be enjoyable. The Seabird jumped a little, 
and tossed considerable water about her forward 
deck ; but it was nothing to what I had seen 
many a time off Glossenbury harbor. 

“ Don’t you think we are going it a little too 
fast?” asked Ellis, after he had watched the 
motion of the boat for a while. 

“ The faster the better,” I replied, with a 
laugh. 

“ She was doing it this way when I ran up 
to the shore,” he added, rather timidly. 

“ She is going along ^first rate : she couldn’t 
do any better.” 

“ But she is so uneasy, and jerks so ! And 
see what a lot of water is pouring over her ! ” 

“ That’s nothing : every good boat picks up 
some water when she is on the wind, or nearly 
so,” I explained. “I shouldn’t ask for anything 
better than this.” 

“You say j^ou are a sailor?” 

“ Of course, I am ; I have been out of sight 
of land most of the time for the last week.” 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


261 


“ All right ; go ahead. I suppose if you can 
stand it, I can.” 

“ This is nothing but baby-sailing, Ellis. If 
you are going to run the Seabird, you mustn’t 
mind anything of this sort. Your boat will 
stand twice as much weather as she is getting 
now. She is a good sea-boat, too, and won’t 
make much of a row in a heavy swell.” 

“ She’s a life-boat,” added the boatman. 

“How’s that? ” 

“ She has five copper air-tanks, so that she 
would not sink with six men in her, if she were 
full of water.” 

“ Then I should be willing to cross the ocean 
in her. I shouldn’t care if it was a little damp, 
as long as I had something under me to stand 
on.” 

“ You can’t sink her.” 

“ I shall not try. She is the prettiest boat, 
by all odds, that I ever handled,” I replied, 
though that was not saying much. “ You are 
bound up the river, Ellis ; but where are you 
going ? ” 

“ To Albany,” replied he decidedly ; and I 
realized that my talk had fully reassured him in 
regard to the boat. 


262 


• GOING WEST, OB 


“ To Albany ? Do you mean so ? ” 

“ Of course I do.” 

“ Did you intend to run this boat to Albany 
yourself?” I asked, amazed at the imprudence 
of the boy, when he was afraid of a white cap, 
or the easy jumping of the boat. 

“ I did ; but I intended to anchor or lay up 
at the side of the river when it blew as hard as 
it does now.” 

“ You are a rough old salt,” I added, laugh- 
ing. 

“ Perhaps I am ; but I’m glad I fell in with 
you. I tliink 3’^ou are a first-rate sailor.” 

“ Thank you, Ellis. A fellow needn’t be 
very salt to handle a boat on this river.” 

“ I’m not going to stop on this river.” 

“ I should have thought a bold fellow like you 
would go the other way, and head your craft out 
to sea.” 

“ The salt water don’t suit me very well. 
I’ve been studying geography this last winter, 
and when I had to tell my tutor how a boat 
could go from New York city to Chicago, I 
wanted to try it myself ; and I am going to do 


SO. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


263 


“ Do you mean that you are going to Chicago 
in this boat ? ” I asked, confounded by the enter- 
prise of the young boatman. 

“I’m going to try it, any how.” 

“ Which way are you going ? ” 

“Through Erie Canal, to Lake Erie, and by 
the great lakes the rest of the way,” he replied, 
coolly. 

It seemed to me that Ellis Dykeman was a 
juvenile lunatic. I was afraid the study of 
geography had turned his brain. But I remem- 
bered that I had imagined just such a voyage 
myself while I was studying geography. I had 
thought that I should like to go in a boat from 
the Gulf of St. Lawrence, through tlie rivers, 
lakes, and canals to the Gulf of Mexico ; but 
the idea had never entered my head except as a 
kind of vision, a freak of the imagination. 

“ How long will it take you to go to Chicago ?” 
I asked. 

“ I don’t know ; all summer, I suppose. I 
started in the spring, so as to have time enough 
for it,” answered Ellis, in a matter-of-fact tone, 
as though the project was entirely real to him. 

It was evident that he was “going west” as 


264 


GOING WEST, OR 


well as myself ; and as I had plenty of time to 
spare, the idea of accompanying him was de- 
lightful. But the scheme appeared to he too 
wild to be real, and it did not seem to me that 
his parents could consent to such an expedition, 
especially as the boy was anything but a skill- 
ful boatman. 

“ What does your mother say to this voyage ? ” 
I asked, carefully approaching the delicate sub- 
ject, for by this time I began to suspect that 
there were two runaways on board of the Seabird, 
instead of one. 

“ I haven’t any mother,” he replied, rather 
stiffly, as though he comprehended the leading 
of my question. “ My mother died six years 
ago.” 

“Well, what does your father say?” I per- 
sisted. 

“ He don’t care ; he don’t say anything.” 

“ Does he know about it ? ” 

Ellis bit his lip, and looked vexed at the in- 
quiry. 

“ He don’t care what I do.” 

“ Don’t he ? Honor bright, Ellis, does he 
know you are bound to Chicago, by the canal 
and great lakes ? ” 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


265 


“ No, he don’t,” he replied, sharply, as though 
he felt above a lie. 

“ Then you are running away from home,” 
I suggested, mildly. 

“ I don’t know that I am running away. My 
father don’t care where I go ; he lets me go 
anywhere I please,” replied Ellis, pouting like a 
school-girl. 

“ This won’t do, my hearty,” I added, putting 
the helm hard up, and easing off the sheet. 

“ What are you about, Alick ? ” demanded the 
young boatman, when the boat had come about, 
and was headed down the river. 

“ I am going to take you back to your father’s 
house, for I don’t help any young fellow, who 
has a good home, to run away from his parents,” 
I answered, virtuously. 

One runaway taking another back to his father’s 
house ! It was rather odd, but ^ such was the 
truth. 


266 


GOING WEST, OR 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

AN ANXIOUS FATHER. 

4 6 DON’T want to' go home, Alick,” said 
I Ellis Dykeman, very decidedly. “ I’m 
not a baby.” 

“ I don’t think you are, my hearty ; on the 
contrary, I believe you have pluck and enter- 
prise enough for a full-grown man.” 

“ What do you want to take me home for, 
then ? ” 

“ Keep cool, Ellis, and we’ll talk it over.” 

“ I’m cool enough ; but you are not going to 
take me home,” protested he. 

“ Now, perhaps I am ; ” I replied, laughing. 

“ It’s mean, if you do.” 

“ It would be mean if I didn’t.” 

“ I was a fool to tell you what I was about.” 

“ That may be. Now, let us look at it. It 
would be mean for you to run away, Ellis.” 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


267 


“ I don’t think so ; I’m able to take care of 
myself.” 

“ Very likely you are ; but you will find taking 
care of yourself is a different thing from what 
you think it is. You live in that fine house, 
you showed me — don’t you?” 

“ Of course, I do,” he answered, rather 
groutily, but apparently interested in what I 
was saying, in spite of himselfi 

“ Very likely you have a nice room in that 
house.” 

“ I have two ; one to sleep in, and the other 
for a play-room, when I can’t go out.” 

“You have enough to eat and drink, I sup- 
pose ? ” 

“ Enough to eat and drink ? I guess my 
father lives as well as any body in this country ! ” 

“ And you sit at the table with him ? ” 

“ To be sure, I do.” 

“ Who looks out for you at home, if you 
have no mother ? ” 

“ I look out for myself. We have a house- 
keeper, but she has to do what I tell her, or 
she’ll catch it.” 

“ Then she uses you well.” 

“Yes; and I like her very well. She lets 


268 


GOING WEST, OR 


me do what I please, and I don’t find any fault 
with her. I used to go to school in the city, 
but now I have a tutor.” 

“ Then I think you must be. an only child.” 

“No, I’m not. T have two sisters, but they 
are younger than I am.” 

“ And your father gives you every thing you 
want, even to a handsome boat like this ? ” 

“Yes; and I have a nice row-boat, a pony 
and a phaeton. My father has a steam yacht 
which I can have when I like. I suppose I can 
get any thing I want.” 

“ Your father must have piles of money,” 
I added. 

“ I suppose he has : he has retired from 
business.” 

“ Does he lick you?” 

“ Lick me ? ” 

“Flog you, whip you?” 

“My father?” he queried, giving me a look 
of blank astonishment. 

“Yes; does he, or any body, flog you?” 

“ My father never whipped me in his life, 
and I’m sure he would never let any body do 


THE PERH,S OF A POOR BOY. 


269 


“You don’t look like a boy that has been 
abused.” 

“ Of course I’m not abused, and never was.” 

“ Then what do you want to run away for ? ” 
I asked, with energy ; and it seemed to me the 
absurdest thing in the world, that he should 
wish to leave such a home as he described. 

“ I want to take the trip I told you about,” 
he replied, as if this were a satisfactory expla- 
nation of his conduct.” 

“ Don’t you think your father will worry 
about you to-night, if you don’t come home ! ” 

“ I don’t know ; I didn’t think of that. My 
father don’t care what I do.” 

“If he don’t, I would not run away.” 

“ I want to go west.” 

“ Going west in that way isn’t the thing, 
Ellis. I wondered why you had such a quan- 
tity of stores on board of the Seabird.” 

“ I bought them over at Newburgh this after- 
noon. I didn’t know but it might take me a 
week to get up to Albany. It is about eighty 
miles, you know.” 

“ What were you going to do with all that 
beefsteak, ham, mutton-chop, and other pro- 
vision ? ” 


270 


GOING WEST, OR 


“ I must have something to eat.” 

“ Do you know how to cook them ? ” 

“ I never did cook any, but I know I could 
do it. Our boatman used to cook for us when 
we went out with parties, and I’ve seen him do 
it enough to know how it’s done.” 

“ But how were you going to get through 
the canal ? It must be over three hundred 
miles long.” 

“ It’s three hundred and sixty-three,” added 
Ellis, who had evidently learned some of his 
geography very well. 

“ That’s a long trip. How were you going 
to make it ? ” 

“I don’t know; but I can find a way.” 

“You have to pay for going through.” 

“ I’ve got plenty of money, and it would be 
first-rate fun to go through the country in this 
way.” 

I did not doubt it, but I thought it would be 
the kindest thing in the world for me to return 
this enterprising boy to his father. The Sea- 
bird flew so rapidly before the wind that by 
this time we were off Newburgh, and but a 
short distance from the elegant mansion on the 
opposite side of the river. Very much to my 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


271 


surjirise, Ellis made no further objection to 
returning home. Whether he was afraid of 
the boat, or thought it useless to resist so stout 
a fellow as I was, I don’t know ; but in a few 
moments more, I rounded up at the pier in 
front of Mr. Dykeman’s house, and leaped 
ashore with the painter in my hand. 

“ There is my father in the steam yacht,” 
said Ellis, pointing to a beautiful little screw 
steamer, which Avas approaching the wharf. 

I dropped the Seabird astern, so that the 
steam yacht could come up at the pier ; but 
Ellis kept his place in the stern. 

“ What are you going to do now, my lad ? ” 
I asked. 

“ I’m not going to do anything,” he replied, 
moodily. “ The game seems to be all up with 
me, and you have spoiled my fun.” 

It was nearly dark, and I would have left 
my charge, if I had not been afraid he would 
start again in the boat before his father landed. 
To my mind, running away from such a home 
as the mansion on the shore was an awful 
thing. Presently, the steam yacht touched the 
wharf, and a well dressed gentleman of forty 
leaped briskly upon it. 


272 


GOING WEST, OR 


“ Ah, Ellie, been out sailing ? ” said he, walk- 
ing over to the side of the pier where I was 
holding the painter of the Seabird. 

“ I’ve been up the river a little way,” replied 
the young man, coolly. 

“It blows rather too ..hard for you to go out 
without the boatman, my son,” added Mr. 
Dykeman. “ Who is this young man with 
you, Ellie? Why don’t you introduce him?” 

“ I picked him up on the other side of the 
river,” answered Ellis, still coldly ; and he did 
not seem to be well disposed towards me. 

“I don’t know whether he picked me up, or 
I picked him up,” I interposed, laughing. “ I 
found him with his boat nearly high and dry 
just above Newburgh, and I helped him off 
with her. If you don’t object, I’U introduce 
myself. My name is Alick.” 

“ Glad to see you, Alick,” added Mr. Dyke- 
man, heartily, and with a generous flow of good 
nature. 

“ It blew rather fresh, and Ellis was some- 
what afraid of the boat. He said he was going 
up the river, and I run her for him, till he 
told me he was going to run away.” 



Ellie!” ejaculated xift: anxious Father. Page 273. 



THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


273 


“ Run away ! Ellie run away ! ” exclaimed 
the father, laughing very heartily. 

“ That’s what he was about,” I continued. 
“ He didn’t find any fault with his home, or 
any body about it ; but he was going to run 
away. I thought you might worry about him, 
and so I brought him back.” 

“I’m sorry you took so much trouble about 
the matter, Alick,” laughed Mr. Dykeman. 

“ He had planned a long trip,” I added, 
taken all aback by his answer. “ He was going 
to Chicago by the Erie Canal and the great 
lakes.” 

“ Ellie ? ” ejaculated the anxious father. 

“ That was the plan.” 

“Is it possible that my son got up such an 
enterprise as that ? ” added Mr. Dykeman, who 
seemed to be delighted with the intelligence, 
and not at all angry or grieved that his son 
had attempted to run away. 

“ It’s a fact, sir ; and if you will look into 
his boat, you will find that she is provisioned 
for a three weeks’ cruise,” I continued, utterly 
amazed at the conduct of - the father, and 
wholly unable to understand him. 

18 


274 


GOING WEST, OR 


Mr. Dykeman stepped into the boat, looked 
into the cabin and lockers, and then seated 
himself in the standing room opposite his liope- 
ful son. 

“ Capital, Ellie ! ” exclaimed he. “You are 
a boy after my own heart. I am sure, now, 
there is some enterprise in you.” 

“ I only wanted to follow up one of my geog- 
raphy lessons,” added Ellis. 

“ That is right ! I like to see boys reduce 
theory to practice.” 

“Well, sir; I’m sorry I meddled with the 
young gentleman,” I interposed, sheepishly. 

“So am I,” laughed the father. “But you 
meant just right, and I thank you all the 
same.” 

This was some consolation, but not much. 
It seemed to me incredible, that a wealthy 
gentleman should be willing his son should run 
away, and even commend him for doing it. 

“ It don’t hurt boys to rough it ; and if my 
son had got to Chicago in this boat, I should 
have been proud of him,” added Mr. Dj^keman. 

“ I don’t think there was any more chance 
of his getting there, than there was of his 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 275 

getting to London on the same tack. He 
doesn’t know much about a boat.” 

“Experience would teach him,” replied the 
father, rubbing his hands. “ He can’t upset 
this boat, and he would be safe in her even in 
the middle of Lake Erie. The boy has pluck 
and enterprise, and I have some hope of him 
now. I was always afraid I should spoil him 
by too much indulgence ; and I am really glad 
to see him strike out for himself. He will 
make something one of these days.” 

“ I didn’t think you would like to have him 
run away,” I suggested. “ I didn’t know but 
you would worry about him.” 

“ Certainly I would rather know where he 
is ; and I think he would have written to me 
within a few days.” 

“ That’s what I meant to do, father,” added 
Ellis, taking from the stern locker a portfolio, 
which he opened, exhibiting paper and envel- 
opes. “ I thought I should have to send to 
you for more money.” • 

“ That’s it ! Don’t you see how thoughtful 
the boy is, Alick ? ” chuckled this strange 
parent. “ I should have sent him all the money 
he wanted to carry out his enterprise. Ellie 


276 


GOING WEST, OR 


is a good boy, and he would not have let me 
worry long. But I’m very much obliged to 
you, Alick ; and, perhaps, after all, its better as 
it is.” 

It seemed to me that it was a good deal 
better ; but I doubted whether I should feel 
like doing my own thinking after this event. 

“ 1 always said if a boy of mine wanted to 
run away, I should let him run,” continued 
Mr. Dykeman, chuckling all the time, as though 
he enjoyed the situation exceedingly. “ If he 
found any thing that suited him better than 
my home, I was willing he should have the 
benefit of it. I wouldn’t run after him, as a 
man over at Newburgli is doing.” 

“Who’s that, sir?” I asked, not a little 
alarmed. 

“ I don’t remember his name, but he called 
the boy Sandy. He followed the runaway up 
the river, and found him at Van Eyck’s hotel.” 

“Did he catch him, father?” asked Ellis, 
interested in the story. 

“ No, he didn’t ; the boy was too much for 
him,” laughed Mr. Dykeman. “ When the man 
got into the room, the boy jumped out the 
window on the roof of the piazza, and then 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


277 


got down into the street. The man leaped out 
the window after him, but the flimzy piazza 
broke down and let him through.” 

“The man?” queried Ellis. 

“Yes; the boy was all right by this time. 
Van Eyck accused the man 'of breaking and 
entering, and trying to rob the boy of some 
money he had ; and the constable took the man 
up and put him in the lock-up.” 

The rich man gave way to a fit of laughter, 
so much was he amused at the mishap of Cap- 
tain Boomsby. 

“ Is he in the lock-up now ? ” I asked. 

“ No ; it seems that Mr. Buckminster, for 
some reason or other, got him out. I wouldn’t 
have done it, and I hope the boy will get off. 
He has pluck enough to make a man of him- 
self. If that boy comes in my way. I’ll help 
him along.” - 

“ So will I, father ! ” exclaimed Ellis. 

I felt grateful for their sympathy, but I did 
not deem it prudent to declare myself. If the 
captain and Mr. Buckminster were both on the 
lookout for me, it was hardly safe for me to 
go to the station and take the train for Albany, 
as I had thought of doing. 


278 


GOING WEST, OR 


CHAPTER XXV. 

UP THE HUDSON. 

M r. DYKEMAN continued to laugh heartily 
at the misfortune of my late tyrant, as 
he discussed the event of the afternoon at the 
hotel. But Ellis was soon tired of the story. 

“ I’m not going to back out, father ! ” ex- 
claimed he, suddenly. “ I’m bound for Chicago.” 

“ Bravo, my son ! ” added Mr. Dykeman, 
clapping his hands with delight. 

“ I’ve made up my mind to go, and I’m go- 
ing.” 

“ Capital, Ellie ! You’U be a man one of 
these days.” 

“ I don’t believe I shall be wrecked on the 
canal,” added the young boatman, beginning to 
bustle about his craft, as though he meant busi- 
ness. 

“ And it will be fine on the lakes at this sea- 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 279 

son of the year,” said the father, taking him- 
self out of the Seabird, as he did not intend to 
be a passenger in her, and as though he were 
ready and entirely willing that his son should 
start at once on his long and perilous journey. 
“ How much money have you, Ellie ? ” 

“ About fifteen dollars, I think. I haven’t 
counted it since I bought my stores,” replied 
the boatman. 

“ That won’t do ; you need more than that.” 

“ I was going to send for more when I got 
to Albany.” 

Mr. Dykeman handed him a roll of bills, 
which Ellis put in his wallet without counting. 
The anxious father asked no questions and gave 
no directions. The only faith he had, or seemed 
to desire, was that the boat would not sink if 
she was upset by a squall. 

“I’m all right now, father,” said Ellis. 

“ Well, good by, my boy. Let me hear from 
you every day, if you can, for I shall be anx- 
ious to learn how you are getting on.” 

“ I’ll try to write every day, father. I shall 
certainly do so when I get short of money,” 
answered Ellis, lightly. “ Come, Alick ! ” 


280 


GOING WEST, OR 


“‘Am I to go with you ? ” I inquired. 

“ You needn’t go if you don’t want to,” re- 
plied the boatman, very independently, I thought, 
for a fellow who knew so little about a boat as 
he did. “ I thought you said you wanted to 
go to Albany? ” 

“ I did ; I should like to go.” 

“ Come along, then.” 

“ Go with him, if you can, Alick, for you 
seem to be used to handling a boat,” said Mr. 
Dykeman to me, in a low tone. “ Take good 
care of him, and I’ll pay you well for your 
trouble. He will want to come home in two or 
three days, at the most.” 

I made no reply, though I thought the gen- 
tleman had some original ideas about the man- 
agement of boys. After his last remark to me, 
I came to the conclusion that he was not en- 
tirely wanting in parental love, and it was possi- 
ble he understood the character and tempera- 
ment of his own son better than any other per- 
son could. I stepped into the boat. The jib 
had been lowered, but the mainsail was still 
set. 

“ Well, skipper, I’m under your orders, and I 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


281 


will do what you say,” I continued, presenting 
myself before the boatman. 

“ I’ll steer, myself,” he replied, grasping the 
main sheet. “You may hoist the jib.” 

I passed the painter over the eye of a ring- 
bolt in the pier, and run up the jib. Casting 
her loose, I went into the standing room, and 
hauled aft the jib sheet. The fresh breeze caught 
the sails, and as Ellis had trimmed the mainsail 
altogether too flat, or had let her off too much, 
the first puff knocked the boat down till a 
bucketfull of water came in over the wash- 
board. 

“ Be careful, Ellie ! ” shouted Mr. Dykeman, 
as he observed this careless management. 

I saw that the skipper was startled, for he was 
not used to this sort of thing ; but he did not 
seem to know what to do. 

“ Luff her up, Ellis,” I said to him. 

Instead of luffing, he put the helm up, which 
made the matter a great deal worse. He evi- 
dently did not know what I meant by luffing 
her up, and turned the wheel the wrong way. 
Another flaw struck her, and, I verily believe 
she would have gone over, if I had not cast off 
the main sheet, and let the sail run out. 


282 


GOING WEST, OR 


“ You take the helm — will you, Alick?” 
said he, almost choking with terror. 

“You are all right now, my boy,” I answered, 
still holding the sheet. “ Luff her up ; put the 
helm down ! The other way.” 

“ She’ll upset ! I don’t understand it,” 
pleaded he. 

“ You’ll do now ; sit down, and run for the 
steeple of that church on the hill. Don’t let 
your father think you don’t know what you are 
about.” 

I hauled in the sheet, as he shifted the helm, 
till the Seabird was close hauled on the starboard 
tack. 

“ I don’t know what I’m about, whether my 
father thinks so, or not,” replied Ellis, frankly 
but timidly. “ I never sailed the boat when 
there was wind enough to ruffle the water, un- 
less the boatman was with me and told me just 
what to do. I never was out when it blows as 
hard as it does now.” 

“ What were you going to do when you got 
out on one of the great lakes, where the storms 
are worse than they are on the ocean ? ” as I 
had heard a sailor on the Great West say. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 283 

“ I don’t know ; I expected to learn all about 
it before I got to Albany. 1 thought I should 
hire a man to sail me on the lakes,” replied 
the boatman. “ I think you had better take the 
wheel, Alick.” 

“Don't you be scared, Ellis. You can’t upset 
her if you try, while I have this sheet in my 
hand,” I answered, encouragingly. 

“ I’m afraid of her.” 

“ Don’t give it up till you are out of sight 
of your father.” 

A sharp flaw had struck her again, and she 
tilted far over to leeward ; but I eased off the 
sheet and let her up. 

“ I’ve had enough of it, Alick ! ” he ex- 
claimed, rising to give me the wheel. 

“ Don’t you see she’s all right now ? ” I added, 
hauling in the sheet till the sails filled again. 
“ You can’t learn how to do it if you don’t 
try ; and this is the right time to get the hang 
of her.” 

“ I would rather learn when it don’t blow as 
hard as it does now. It’s a great deal worse 
than it was when we came down,” pleaded Ellis. 

“ Do take the wheel, Alick.” 


284 


GOING WEST, OR 


“ Don’t let your father think you are a baby ; 
he’s looking at you.” 

“ I don’t care if he is. I can’t handle her 
when it blows as it does now.” 

“ Tr)^ once more, and if you don’t do better 
this time I will relieve you. You don’t mind 
your helm, Ellis, half close enough. You let 
her fall off eight points from the course I gave 
you. Where is that steeple now ? ” 

“ I forgot all about the steeple.” 

“You might as well forget to breathe, as 
forget what your course is in a boat. She has 
fallen off so much now that you can’t fetch the 
steeple. Run for that house with a cupola, on 
the hill. Keep your eye on it all the time. 
Don’t lose sight of it for an instant. That’s 
the way to do things in this world. She will 
jump a little when you bring her up to it, but 
that won’t hurt any thing. Now mind your 
eye ! ” 

I trimmed the mainsail, and the Seabird went 
along very well. As Ellis said, the breeze had 
freshened considerably, but it was nonsense to 
reef on a life-boat. The boatman kept his eye 
on the house I had designated, and I soon found 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


285 


that he was an apt scholar. When he knew 
what to do, he was able to do it. The boat 
jumped, and tossed the spray over her forecastle, 
but no harm came to her, and she did not offer 
to -heel over unreasonably while she was well 
steered. As she was going along so well, I 
made fast the main sheet to the cleat on the 
boom, where it was always within my reach. 

“ You are doing first rate, Ellis,” I said, as 
we were nearing the Newburgh side of the 
river. 

“ But she tips so when the flaws come ! ” 

“ Never mind that ; keep your eye on the 
house.” 

“ I do ; I am headed right for the cupola. 
Now she tips.” 

“Not much ; she is safe enough till the wa- 
ter comes in over the washboard. When the 
liquid pours into the boat, it is about time 
something was done.” 

“ I should think it was ! ” exclaimed the 
boatman. “ And you have fastened the sheet ! ” 

“ You can cure the tipping without touching 
the sheet my lad. When you think she is go- 
ing over farther than feels good to you, just 


286 


GOING WEST, OR 


touch her up a little, and you will be all 
right.” 

“ Do what ? ” 

“ Touch her up ; that is, put your helm 
down about half a spoke ; not too much, or 
you will cramp or throttle her.” 

“ I don’t understand what you mean. There ! 
She is tipping more than I like now ! ” 

“Pull the wheel towards you, just a little — 
not too much.” 

“ Half a spoke ; that’s it.” 

The hull of the boat immediately came up, 
and the sail began to quiver slightly near the 
mast. 

“ Well, now, that’s odd,” said Ellis, with a 
smile. “ I never knew how to do that be- 
fore.” 

“ Mind your helm ! Let her off again ! When 
you do that, you must be careful to let her off 
as soon as the flaw eases up, or you’ll broach 
her too and have all your sails shaking. But it’s 
about time to go in stays.” 

“ Go in what ? ” 

“In stays ; to go about on the other tack.” 

“ How shall I do it ? I’m afraid I shall up- 
set her.” 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


287 


“ No, you won’t. Give her a good full ; push 
the wheel from you one spoke.” 

She got a good full and began to heel down 
to an extent which was trying to the nerves of 
the untrained boatman. 

“ Now you are all right ! Hard down your 
helm, Ellie ! Pull the wheel towards you ! ” 

The effect of this movement of the horizon- 
tal wheel was to crowd the tiller over to lee- 
ward ; and as soon as it was done, the jib and 
mainsail began to shake and bang furiously. 
But the Seabird worked very lively in that 
breeze, and in an instant the sails began to draw on 
the other side. 

“ Meet her with the helm, my lad,” I called, 
as I cast off the weather and hauled on the lee 
jib sheet. “ Go the other side of the wheel, 
and draw the spokes towards you. Lively, or 
you will get a big tip.” 

She got it, anyway, for Ellis did not shift 
the helm at just the right moment. 

“ She’s going over ! ” cried he. 

“ No she isn’t, Ellie. Let off the wheel a 
spoke. That’s it! Now she rights !.” 

“ I thought she was going over,” said he 
drawing a long breath. 


288 


GOING WEST, OR 


“ You musn’t think so. \Yhen the water be- 
gins to come in over the board, I can ease her 
off in a second, with the sheet. Don’t keep 
her up too close ; you cramp her so that she 
don’t go ahead. You must learn to handle her 
by the feeling, just as you do your pony.” 

“ It takes about all my strength to hold this 
wheel,” added Ellis. 

“ That’s a good sign ; she carries a strong 
weather helm, as she ought. Do j^ou know 
what that is ? ” 

“ I’m sure I don’t.” 

“I’ll tell you. You have to pull on the wheel ' 
to keep it in place — don’t you ? ” 

“ I’ll bet I do ! I Imve to pull hard.” 

“ If you should let go, which way would the 
wheel turn ? ” 

“ Right away from me.” 

“ That is, the tiller would go down to lee- 
ward. The boat has a tendency to come up into 
the wind and spill the wind out of the sail. 
When a vessel carries a weather helm, the tiller 
lias to be kept a little up towards the weather 
side. Now if the boat tips too much, you have 
only to let the wheel turn a spoke, or less, and 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 289 

then the wind won’t bear so hard on the sail. 
You should steer by the feeling; and when you 
are used to it, you can keep her going all right 
with your eyes shut.” 

“ I see it now,” replied Ellis; and for the 
next half hour, while the boat was on the port 
tack, he steered very well. 

I watched him with interest all the time, but 
when it was almost dark, I suggested that it 
was supper time. The skipper of the Seabird 
was of the same mind, and I ran the boat up 
to one of the bold shores where we could easily 
land. We were not more than three miles above 
Fishkill, and though Ellis proposed to stay here 
all night, for reasons of • my own, which I did 
not care to discuss with him, I did not wish to 
do so. 19 


290 


GOING WEST, OR 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

IN THE NIGHT AND STORM. 

4 6 '^TTHAT shall we have for supper? ” asked 
V f Ellis, turning to me. 

“ I don’t know ; you are the captain of this 
craft, and you ought to say,” I replied, laughing. 
“ I know something about cooking, and I will 
get up any kind of a supper you wish.” 

“ Don’t you call me captain, or anything of that 
sort, when you know ten times as much about 
a boat as I do,” he replied, in a deprecatory 
tone ; and I must say, that for the son of a rich 
father, pampered and indulged as he had been, 
he was very gentle to his social inferiors. “ What 
would you like for your supper, Alick ? ” 

“ I am not very particular. A beefsteak and 
potatoes are about as good as anything we can 
have.” 

“ All right ; they will suit me as well as any- 
thing.” 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


291 


I took the furnace on the shore, while he got 
out the provisions. I make a fire in it, and then 
returned to the standing-room to pare and slice 
the potatoes. While I was thus engaged, Ellis 
brought an awning, which he proposed to spread 
on the boom, over the standing-room, in order, 
as he said, to enlarge the cabin accommodations ; 
but I objected. 

“ I don’t think we want that to-night, EUie,” 
I began. 

“ Why not ? ” he asked. “ I had it made on 
purpose to put over the standing-room at night, 
to keep the cold and dampness out.” 

“ I don’t think we need it. Do you really 
mean to stay in this place all night ? ” 

“ Isn’t this place just as good as any other ? ” 

“ I don’t want to stay here, so near Newburgh, 
if it makes no difference to you,” I continued, 
doubtful whether it was safe to trust a mere boy 
with my secret. 

“ What odds does it make how near we are 
to Newburgh?” he asked, evidently very much 
surprised. 

“ It might make a great deal of difference to 
me. You won’t tell any one what I say to you 
— will you? ” 


292 


GOING WEST, OR 


“ Why, what have you been doing, Alick ? 
Have you been up to something bad ? ” 

“Not very bad.” 

“ What have you done ? ” 

“ Do you remember the story your father told 
about the boy at Van Eyck’s hotel?” 

“ Of course I remember it.” 

“ Well, I’m the boy.” 

“You?” 

“I am, the very one.” 

“ But my father said his name was Sandy.” 

“ My name is Alexander ; and everybody called 
me Sandy. Alick is also used for Alexander, 
and I like it better than Sandy.” 

“ Are you really that fellow ? ” 

“ I ani, without the ghost of a doubt,” I re- 
plied, laughing at his astonishment. “ Captain 
Boomsby and Mr. Buckminster are on the look- 
out for me ; and the farther I get from New- 
burgh, the safer 1 shall be.” 

“ That’s so ; but can we sail the boat in the 
night?” 

“ Just as well as in the daytime,” I answered, 
confidently, though I knew no more about the 
navigation of the Hudson than I did about that 
of the Polar Sea. .“ But you may turn in as 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


293 


early as you like, Ellie, and I will keep the 
Seabird going all night. You have a good bed 
in the cuddy, and you can sleep as well there 
as you could at home.” 

‘‘ Where shall v/e be in the morning ? ” he 
asked, as though the idea was quite exciting to 
him. 

“ That will depend upon how hard the wind 
blows.” 

“ How far, if it blows as hard as it does 
now ? ” 

“What time is it?” 

Of course Ellis had a watch, and he told me 
that it was half past seven o’clock. 

“If it blows as fresh all night as it does now, 
we shall be within five or six miles of Albany 
at this time in the morning,” I replied. “At 
this rate, we shall be there by half past eight 
o’clock.” 

“ I should like that first rate,” said Ellis, as 
he lighted the lantern and swung it to the boom. 
“ I should like ever so much to write to my 
father from Albany in the morning, and tell him 
that I got there before nine in the forenoon. He 
thinks I don’t amount to much, and keeps teU- 


294 


GOING WEST, OR 


ing me I shall never make a man. I have been 
wanting to do some big thing for a long time, 
just to prove that I am not a ninny. He is 
always telling me what great things he did when 
he was a boy.” 

“We may not be able to get to Albany in 
the morning, or even by night, Ellie ; but we 
will keep her spinning while there is any 
wind.” 

“ I hope it will blow fresh all night.” 

“So do I, as well for my own sake as for yours. 
But we must hurry up the supper, for we are 
wasting time,” I continued, as I cut off some 
slices from the piece of pork which Ellis had 
brought out of the cuddy. 

In a short time I had fried the potatoes, and 
then I broiled the beefsteak. We ate the supper 
as fast as we could, for both of us were in a 
hurry to be moving towards our destination. 
The boatman declared the meal was as good as 
he had ever eaten at home ; but I thought that 
hunger was the sauce which improved the cooking. 
Leaving the dishes to be disposed of after we 
got under way, I hoisted the sails and shoved 
off from the bank. I took the wheel, for Ellis 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 295 

preferred to put away the things himself. It 
was now quite dark, and clouds were rising in 
the southward and westward. The wind had 
sensibly abated, and I thought from the appear- 
ance of the sky that we should have a decided 
change of weather. I had been to sea enough 
to know something about the indications, and I 
thought we should have a southerly storm before 
morning. I concluded not to say anything to 
my companion, for I did not care to alarm him ; 
and I might be mistaken. 

Ellis was hard at work, putting things to 
rights in the cuddy. He had a very high idea 
of order ; and by the light of his lantern I could 
see that he had put everything in ship-shape 
condition. But his light bothered me about 
steering, and I had to ask him to put it out. 
When he had done so, he joined me in the 
standing room. He gaped fearfully, and I saw 
that the day’s excitement and labor had about 
finished him. 

“I think you had better turn in, Elbe,” I 
suggested, after he had gaped, yawned and 
stretched a few times. “ I guess you are not 
used to much hard work-” 


296 


GOING WEST, OK 


“ No, I’m not ; and I’ve been on the jump all 
day. I am as tired as a dog,” he answered, 
with a heavy yawn. 

“ Turn in then.” 

“ Turn into what ? ” he asked, sleepily. 

“ Turn into a sleeping boy ; in other words, 
go to bed.” 

“I think I will; but can’t I have a light?” 

“ Not a light, Ellie.” . 

“ Why not, Alick ? I’m not used to going 
to bed in the dark.” 

“ The light blinds me so that I can’t see 
where the shore is,” I explained. “ Don’t you 
know that you can’t see out the window on a 
dark night, when you are in a hght room?” 

“ Yes, I’ve noticed that. But, Alick, there 
isn’t hardly any wind now.” 

“ Very little.” 

“I’m really sorry for that, for I would give 
a good deal to be able to write to my father 
from Albany, in the morning.” 

“ Perhaps you may do so yet ; for, though 
the wind is not so strong as it was, it is shift- 
ing to the southward and westward ; and we 
can get ahead faster with a fair wind, if it is 


THE PERELS OF A POOR BOY. 297 

light, than with a head one that is strong. Go 
to sleep, Ellie, and I will do the best I can ; 
and I shonldn’t be at all surprised if you woke 
up in Albany^ to-morrow morning — if you 
don’t wake too early.” 

Ellis undressed himself and went to bed, 
like a sensible boy, just as if he had been at 
home. I knew that he was tired enough to 
sleep ; and in a few minutes I heard his heavy 
breathing. Securing the wheel with the end 
of the jib-sheet, I went to the cuddy and 
carefully closed the doors, leaving the slide open 
enough to afford him proper ventilation. I 
was satisfied that nothing but a very wild com- 
motion would awake him. 

Having thus disposed of my companion, I 
was practically all alone in the boat. I knew 
nothing at all about the navigation of the 
river; but, as it was in the spring of the year, 
I had every reason to believe that the water 
was high. The Seabird was a centre-board 
boat, so that, if she took the ground, I could 
easily work her off into the deep water. I had let 
out the sheets several times, as the wind shifted 
to the southward, and I judged that it was 


298 


GOING WEST, OR 


now blowing from the south-west. Passing a 
village on the right bank, I heard the clock on 
a church strike nine. The river was full of 
steamers and sloops, and I had to dodge them 
every few minutes ; but there were not so 
many as there had been before dark. As I 
had anticipated, the wind freshened till it blew 
almost a gale. I had it nearly aft, and the 
Seabird seemed to fly before it. At one time I 
thought I was keeping up with a train of cars 
on the bank of the river, but this was an 
illusion, for the ' train was going almost at right 
angles with me ; and when it came to move in 
the same direction as the Seabird, it soon 
shot out of sight. 

I could not tell how fast the boat was going, 
but, judging by the rate at which I passed 
objects on the shore, it seemed to me that I 
was making eight or nine miles an hour. I 
went by several tug-boats, towing a score of 
barges and other craft. At one time I actually 
kept abreast of a small side-wheel steamer for 
more than half an hour. I had the highest 
opinion of the sailing qualities of the Seabird ; 
and certainly I had seen nothing like her before 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 299 

for speed. Half a dozen clocks saluted me, 
striking the hour of ten, when I passed a large 
town, which, I have since concluded, must have 
been Poughkeepsie. The wind blew rathe^ 
more than half a gale all night ; but it was 
fair, so that I had nothing to do but steer. I 
had served in the middle watch on board of 
the Great West, the night before; but Barnes 
had permitted me to sleep most of the time, 
so that I was quite fresh, though I had several 
fits of being sleepy. When these came upon 
me, I ate some crackers which I had saved out 
at supper. Eating waked me up, and I did 
not give out during the night. 

Towards morning it began to rain, , and it 
came down good during the rest of the 
trip. I was much concerned about my new 
clothes ; but 1 found a rubber coat in one 
of the lockers, which entirely protected me. 
A cap with a cape kept my head and neck 
dry, and I suffered no discomfort from the 
storm. 

Ellis slept as sound as a log, and I did not 
hear anything from him, except his snoring, till 
seven o’clock in the morning. At this time I 


300 


GOING WEST, OK 


was approaching “ a city set on a hill.” The 
river was full of islands, but I followed other 
boats, and did not once get aground during 
the trip. 

“ What place is this ? ” I asked a man who 
was rowing a boat across the river. 

“ Albany,” he replied, as the Seabird shot 
out of hailing distance of him. 

“ I did not know where to find the entrance 
to the canal, so I ran the boat into a quiet 
place, and let go the anchor. I lowered the 
jib and mainsail, and then opened the cuddy 
doors. 

“ Time to write your letter,” I called to 
EUie. 


THE PEUILS OF A POOR BOY. 


301 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

CAPTAIN BOOMSBY’s SPECULATION. 

E llis DYKEMAN had slept remarkably 
well, for he had not waked, so far as I 
knew, during the night ; but then I could not 
see any reason why he should wake. His bed 
was as good as any in his father’s house, and 
though the Seabird had been flying all the time, 
the position of the sail had not been changed, 
and there was no noise except that of the 
pattering rain on the deck, and the swashing 
water against the bow. 

“ Time to write your letter, Ellie,” I repeated, 
crawling into the cuddy. 

The young boatman opened his eyes and 
looked at me. He did not at once comprehend 
the situation. I took off my dripping coat 
and cap, and threw them out into the_ stand- 
ing-room. 


GOING WEST, Oli 


302 

“I have slept like a log,” said my com- 
panion, rubbing his eyes. 

“ I think you have,” I added, laughing. “ I 
don’t think you could have done any better, in 
the way of sleeping, if you had been at home. 
But you had better turn out and write your 
letter, Ellie.’’ 

“What letter?” he asked, blankly. 

“You said you wished to write to your 
father this morning.” 

“Not till we get to Albany: Where are we 
now ? ” he inquired, jumping out of his berth, 
and looking through the door of the cuddy. 

“We are in Albany.” 

“ In Albany ? You don’t mean so ! ” exclaimed 
Ellis. 

“ I never was here before ; but I asked a 
man what place this was, and he told me it 
was Albany.” 

“ It is Albany ! ” he added. “ I have been 
here before, and I know the city by sight. How 
it rains ! ” 

“ It has been raining since early this morn- 
ing, It is after seven now, and if you will 
write your letter I will take it to the post- 
office.” 


THE TERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


308 


He dressed himself, and took out his port- 
folio ; but he could not write till I had told him 
all about the voyage up the river after he 
retired. When his letter was ready, I put on 
the rubber coat and cap ; but I found it diffi- 
cult to get ashore. A man who witnessed my 
efforts to swing the boat in to a position where 
I could land, advised me to take her into the 
canal basin ; and, following his directions, I 
did so. I hauled the Seabird up at a pier, 
near the foot of State Street. 

“ What shall we do about breakfast, Alick ? 
We can’t cook here,” said Ellis. 

“ We can take a cold bite,” I suggested. 

“ I don’t like cold bites for breakfast,” he 
replied, turning up his nose. “ I will go on 
shore with you, and we will stay at the Dela- 
van House, to wait for fair weather.” 

I did not object. I gave him the rubber 
coat and cap, and he produced an umbrella 
for my use, for I did not care to spoil my new 
suit. I wished to buy a pair of overalls and a 
cheaper coat than the one I wore ; so I took 
my bag with me. We went to the Delavan 
House, where Ellis registered his name in due 


304 


QOma WEST, OE 


form, and called upon me to do the same. I 
did not think I should add to the perils of a 
poor boy by writing “ A. Duddleton ” in the 
book ; and I did so. The clerk seemed to be 
a little doubtful about us ; but when my ship- 
mate told who his father was, it was all right. 

We had a famous breakfast, and I was begin- 
ning to feel quite at home, unused as I was to such 
princely fare and surroundings. I went to the 
office to inquire where the post office was, at 
the same time showing the letter addressed to 
Mr. Dykeman. The clerk took it and dropped 
it through an aperture in the counter. As he 
did so, I happened to glance at the open 
register before me. 

To my astonishment, not to say horror, I 
discovered, near the top of the page, the names 
of Captain Boomsby and Mr. Buckminster. It 
did not seem to be possible that my pursuers 
could be in Albany ; and I thought I should 
sink through the floor, I was so utterly con- 
founded. I had made a very quick run up the 
river, and I failed to consider that the train 
made the same journey in three hours. I asked 
the clerk for my bag, which was in the office; 


THE PERILS OP A POOR BOY. 


305 


for the Delavan House, or even Albany, was 
no place for me. He declined to give me my 
baggage till I paid my bill ; and I thought 
that a dollar and a quarter was a monstrous 
price for a breakfast ; but I paid it. In going 
through the hall to the side-entrance of the 
hotel, I saw Ellis Dykeman in the reading- 
room. 

I did not like to leave him without a word 
at parting ; and, as there was no one else in 
the room that I knew, I went in. My shipmate 
was reading a newspaper, and he seemed to be 
deeply absorbed in its contents. 

“ Here we are, in the newspaper, Alick ! ” 
said he, with a glow of pleasure on his face. 

“ What do you mean ? ” I asked. 

“ Here is a full account of the saving from 
a watery grave of Miss Edith Buckminster, by 
a brave sailor boy.” 

“What paper is that?” 

“ It’s a Newburgh morning paper. It says 
the steamer brought you to Newburgh, and 
Captain Boomsby, of the schooner Great West, 
believing the young sailor intended to run 
away from his guardian, followed him up the 
20 


306 


GOING WEST, OR 


river by train. It tells all about the row at Van 
Eyck’s hotel ; that the captain was arrested and 
discharged, after an explanation by Mr. Buck- 
minster. But the sailor boy had disappeared 
by this time.” 

“ I want to know if all that’s in the paper ! ” 
I asked, greatly astonished at the enterprise of 
the reporters. 

“Yes, and more too. That was as far as I 
had read when you came in ; and I will go on 
with the rest of it.” 

I listened with breathless interest to the rest 
of the narrative, the substance of which was 
that the “ bright and enterprising son of Mr. 
Lyman Dykeman,” had started upon a pleasure 
excursion up the river, in his yacht, the Sea- 
bird. “ Just before he started, the adventurous 
young navigator picked up a youth who an- 
swers to the description of the missing sailor 
boy, whom Mr. Buckminster and the young 
man’s guardian are so anxious to find ; and 
they went on to Poughkeepsie, in order to take 
the night express. They will be in ample 
season to intercept the Seabird on her arrival 
at Albany.” 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 307 

“ I can’t stay to hear any more of it, Ellie,” 
I interposed, nervously. “ Mr. Buckminster and 
Captain Boomsby are at this hotel now.” 

“ Where are you going ? ” demanded he. 

“ I don’t know ; but I am going to get out 
of the way as fast as I can,” I replied, retreat- 
ing towards the door. 

“But I want you to go with me in the Sea- 
bird.” 

“ I can’t go, as things are now,” I added, 
edging towards the door. “ I will try to join 
you, for I am going west.” 

“ Hold on, Alick ! What am I to do ? ” 

“ If you can’t do any better, you can hire a 
man to sail your boat — ” 

That was as far as I got with my remark, 
for at this moment Captain Boomsby darkened 
the door through which I intended to retreat ; 
our eyes met, but I fancied that he did not 
look so ugly as when I saw him last. 

“ Well, Sandy, here we are again,” said my 
tyrant, walking briskly up to me, as though he 
did not intend that I should give him the slip 
again. 

It was no use for me to attempt to run away 


308 


GOING WEST, OR 


in SO public a place ; and it seemed to me just 
as though “my pipe was out.” 

“ Here we are, Captain Boomsby,” I added, 
rather because it was my turn to speak, than 
because I had anything to say. 

“ I want to see you, Sandy,” continued he, 
looking about the room, as if in search of a 
safe place for an interview. ' 

“I can’t say that I want to see you. Is Mr. 
Buckminster with you ? ” 

“ He is in the house. He was up all night, 
and I reckon he’s turned in for a nap. We 
didn’t expect to see you yet awhile.” 

He did not talk like my tyrant, and I began 
to think Mr. Buckminster had made some 
arrangement with him. 

“ I should like to see him,” I replied. 

“You shall see him by and by ; but I want 
to talk with you first. Who’s that boy?” asked 
the captain, glancing at my shipmate. 

“ He is the boy I came up with.” 

“ Come over here and sit down, Sandy,” he 
continued, leading the way to the farthest cor- 
ner of the room. 

As I was rather curious to know what he had 


THE PERH,S OF A POOR BOY. 


309 


to say, I followed him, and sat down by his 
side. From his manner, I was confident that he 
had made a bargain with my Newburgh friend 
or that he intended to do so. 

“ Sandy, I guess we can be friends, after all,” 
he began, in a tone such as he had never used 
to me before. “ It ain’t for your interest nor 
mine to quarrel.” 

“ Have you made any trade with Mr. Buck- 
minster ? ” I asked, wishing to know the whole 
truth at once. 

“No, I hain’t ; but I cal’late we shall make 
a trade. He seems to think a heap of you, 
Sandy.” 

“ He was very kind to me,” I replied, disap- 
pointed to find that nothing had yet been done. 

I shall not follow the conversation which suc- 
ceeded into its details ; but, as I suspected. 
Captain Boomsby had something on his mind. 
Possibly he believed I was both a knave and a 
fool, though he complimented me by gradually 
approaching the subject. It appeared that Mr. 
Buckminster had offered him as high as a 
thousand dollars in cash, if he would release 
me from the service I owed him ; and he had 


310 


GOING WEST, OR 


declined the offer, evidently because he thought 
my friend’s gratitude would induce him to give 
more. 

“ Then he said, if you’d rather live with me,” 
continued the captain, “ he would do something 
handsome for you, every year.” 

Mr. Buckminster knew very well that I would 
not live with my tyrant if I could help it ; and 
I could not see why he should make such a re- 
mark. I doubted whether he had said any such 
thing. 

“ I know my wife and I’ve been rather hard 
on you, Sandy ; but if you’ll go down to New 
York with me, you shall live in the cabin of 
the schooner, and I’ll use you as well as I could 
use my own son,” added Captain Boomsby. 
“ At home you shall eat with the folks, and go 
to school all the year round, if you want to. 
I don’t believe Mr. Buckminster’ll do any bet- 
ter by you than I shall.” 

“What will he give you for using me so 
well?” I inquired. 

“ I don’t know just what he’ll do. I heard 
in Newburgh that he was a very rich mdn. I 
want to raise about three thousand dollars this 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 311 

summer, and I think he’ll help me to it. If 
you live with me; it will make it all right,” he 
answered; and a cunning smile played upon his 
face. 

I could not tell then what Captain Boomsby 
expected to accomplish through me, and I know 
no better now ; but I realized that he expected 
to extort large sums of money from Mr. Buck- 
minster on my account. Of course he did not 
disclose his plan to me ; but he had probably 
come to the conclusion that the rich man’s grat- 
itude to, and interest in me would be a gold 
mine to him, if he worked it right. It would 
be easy to get money out of so liberal a man for 
my sake. I need not say that I did not like 
the plan. It seemed to me that, if Mr. Buck- 
minster disbursed any money on my account, it 
should be for my benefit, not for that of my 
tyrant. I suspected, too, that the whole plan 
was a trick to get me back to the Great West. 

“ I’ll think of it,” I replied. “ I want to see 
Mr. Buckminster.” 

“ Well, we’ll go up to his room,” said the 
captain, rising and leading the way. 

I did not wish to see my kind friend in the 


312 


GOING WEST, OE 


presence of my tyrant. A servant was called to 
show us the way. On the second floor the hall 
was rather dark ; and, seeing a chamber door 
open, I thought my opportunity had come. Cap- 
tain Boomsby followed the servant, and I was 
behind both. As we came to the room, I 
slipped in, and gently closed the door. A guest 
had probably just left the apartment, and I found 
the key on the inside. I locked the door, and 
took out the key. I had hardly accomplished 
this, before I heard the voice of the captain, 
saying that I must have gone down stairs again. 
He moved as though he was in a hurry. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR, BOY. 


813 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE SICK MAK. 

I HAD plenty of time to think, after I had 
secured the door and removed the key. I 
had a general purpose of escaping from Captain 
Boomsby, but I did not think of carrying it out 
at once, until the open door of the chamber 
suggested the means of doing so. The hall was 
carpeted, and I was walking about three feet 
behind the captain. We had turned a corner 
near the head of the staircase, and the chamber 
I had chosen for my hiding-place was only four 
or five doors beyond this corner. What I had 
done was on the impulse of the moment, with- 
out any consideration of the chances of success ; 
only I had a definite idea that my tj^rant would 
think that I had retreated down the stairs. 

What I heard in the hall convinced me that , 
my hastily-formed plan had worked as I intended 


314 


GOING WEST, OE 


it should. I had the room to myself, and the 
door was locked with the key in my hand. 
Probably Captain Boomsby supjDOsed he had made 
an impression upon me with his liberal offer to 
let me live with him in the cabin of the Great 
West, and “ eat with the folks at home,” so that 
he did not suspect that I would attempt to 
escape, at least, before I had seen Mr. Buck- 
minster. I am sure if he had had any suspicion 
of my purpose, he would have compelled me to 
walk before, instead of letting me go behind 
him. 

How I was to get out of the hotel was a diffi- 
cult problem for me to solve. If I showed my- 
self in the halls I should be seen by somebody, 
and if I staid in the room I was just as likely 
to be discovered. I did not know what to do. 
In the course of the day the apartment would 
probably be assigned to some guest, and my 
hiding-place would be exposed. When I had 
been in the room about half an hour, as near as 
I could judge, I heard the voice of Captain 
Boomsby in the haU. 

“ When we were along here somewhere, he 
gave me the shp,” said he, in an excited tone. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


315 


“You mean that you missed him here,” replied 
the person to whom he was speaking ; and I 
recognized the voice of Mr. Buckminster. 

“ I know that he was behind me when I 
turned that corner, because I saw him,” added 
the captain. “ When I got to your room, on 
the other side of the entry, I missed him.” 

“ My room is only half a dozen doors from the 
stairs. He must have gone down.” 

“ I’ve looked all about the house, and I can’t 
find liide nor hair of him. Nobody down below 
saw him come down. He may have gone up 
stairs instead of down.” 

“I’m afraid you said something that alarmed 
him,” suggested Mr. Buckminster., 

“ No, I didn’t ; not a word ; ” and the captain 
recited the tempting offer he had made me. 

They passed on, so that I could not hear 
anything more they said. They did not suspect 
that I was within six feet of the spot where I 
Avas said to have disappeared. Probably Mr. 
Buckminster caused the house to be thoroughly 
searched ; but I am only sure that I was not 
found. I was very nervous and uneasy, but I 
dared not leave the room. Hour after hour I 


316 


GOING WEST, OR 


sat in a chair,* or walked the room, trying to 
think of some way to get out of the scrape. 
At one time I thought of giving myself up to 
the captain, and taking my chances under the 
new order of things ; but my inborn sense of 
honor and decency would not allow me to become 
the means by which Captain Boomsby was to 
extort money from my kind friend. Besides, I 
had no faith in the good intentions of my tyrant, 
who wanted to “ raise three thousand dollars.” 
I was afraid he would get the money, and then 
abuse me, as he had before. In a word, I could 
not trust him, and I was determined to risk 
everything rather than return to the Great West. 
Then my mind was so deeply impressed with the 
glories of the other Great West, that I could not 
abandon the thought of seeking my fortune there. 
I had started with the intention of going west, 
and I intended to carry out the purpose. I 
desired to go with Ellis Dykeman ; but it would 
be adding another to the Perils of a Poor Boy 
to attempt to join him again ; and I gave up the 
idea. If I could only get out of the house, I 
had money enough to pay my fare as far as 
Buffalo ; and I hoped I might work my passage 
from there in some vessel bound up the lake. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 317 

The bed in the chamber where I had taken 
refuge was all made up ; and probably the last 
guest who had occupied it had only used it to 
change his dress, for the towels were soiled, and 
the wash-bowl was half full of dirty water. 

After I had been in the room several hours, 
I heard some one inserting a key in the lock. 
On the impulse of the moment, I seized my bag 
and crawled under the bed. The person at the 
door “fussed” some time with the lock, so that all 
was quiet when an entrance was effected. Then 
I remembered that I had left the key on the 
table ; and I felt a chill of apprehension when I 
realized what a blunder I had made. The bed 
was covered with a large white spread, which 
effectually concealed me from the observation 
of the person who had invaded my retreat. 

The visitor was one of the chambermaids, who 
had come to put the room in order. She was 
singing merrily at her work, and banged the 
bowl and pitcher as though they were the 
property of the hotel, and not her own. In a 
few minutes she finished her task there, and I 
heard her lock the door as she retired. I left 
my hiding-place, hoping she had not taken the 


318 


GOING WEST, OR 


key from the table, for I knew she must have 
had one of her own, or she could not have 
entered the chamber. I felt another chill when 
I discovered that it was gone. As the matter 
stood now, I had to stay in the room till it was 
assigned to a guest, or ring the bell, and sur- 
render at discretion. For hours I could not 
make up my mind to face either of these alter- 
natives, and I hoped that some chance would 
favor my escape. 

The only window in the room opened into a 
large area, between the wings of the house. 
The blinds were closed, but I opened them a 
crack, and judged by the sun that it was about 
four o’clock in the afternoon. Though I had 
eaten a heavy breakfast, I was in condition to 
do justice to a dinner. I had plenty of money 
in my pocket, but I felt as much like a poor 
boy as ever, for it would not procure me the 
meal I needed. 

While I was thinking of it, I heard voices 
in the entry, and a key was inserted in the 
door. I was not yet ready to give up the bat- 
tle, and I crawled under the bed again. My 
worst fear seemed to be realized, for the room 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


319 


was assigned to a guest. I stretched myself on 
the floor, and was careful not to breathe so as 
to be heard by the invaders, as I regarded 
them. 

“I’m very sick,” said the guest, as I judged 
him to be, in a feeble tone. 

“Can I do anything for you, sir?” asked 
the waiter. 

“ No ; I only want rest now. I’m afraid I 
shan’t live to get home,” added the stranger, 
with a gasp and a groan. 

“Won’t you have a doctor, sir?” 

“ Doctors can’t do nothing more for me. I’m 
going to stop over one train ; but I must start 
again about one o’clock to-night,” continued the 
traveller, in a kind of hoarse whisper which 
appalled me. “ Night and day are aU the same 
to me.” . 

“ Shall I send any one up to see you, or get 
you anything ? ” inquired the waiter. 

“ No ; I don’t want anything but rest. You 
may leave me, and have me called in time for 
the train.” 

I heard the waiter depart, and the sick man 
locked the door after him. Then he undressed 


320 


GOING WEST, OK 


himself and went to bed. I hoped he would go 
to sleep, and afford me an opportunity to 
escape. He groaned and breathed heavily, and 
I was afraid he would die in the bed above me. 
Hour after hour I listened to his moaning and 
his long-drawn sighs, till the room was dark. 
Then he seemed to grow much worse, and my 
blood ran cold in my veins. I heard him trying 
to get out of the bed, as I thought. 

“ O, dear ; I must die here all alone ! ” he 
cried ; and I heard something like a sob. 

Whatever became of me, I could stand this 
no longer. My pity for the sufferer overcame 
my fears, and, as cautiously as I could, I crawled 
out at the foot of the bed from my retreat. It 
was too dark for him to see me, and I moved 
so carefully that I was confident he did not hear 
me. 

“ How do you feel ? ” I asked, placing myself 
near the head of the bed. 

“ I’m almost gone,” he replied, with diffi- 
culty. 

I lighted the gas ; but the sick man did not 
seem to be surprised at my presence in the 
room. 

“ Can I do anything for you ? ” I added. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


321 


“Yes; open my valise,” said he, unable to 
say anything more. 

The valise was locked ; but I fished his pockets 
till I found a bunch of keys, one of which fitted 
the lock. On the clothes was a vial and a 
teaspoon. 

“Is this what you want?” I asked, holding 
up the vial. 

“Yes; twenty drops in water,” he replied, 
with a gasp. 

I dropped the medicine into a glass, and put 
a little water with it. He swallowed the dose. 
It must have been a powerful remedy, for in 
ten minutes he was better. He ceased to groan 
and gasp ; and I wondered why he had not 
taken the medicine before. He did not look 
like a very sick man ; he was pale, but not 
much emaciated. 

“You have saved me,” said he. “I never 
was so bad before that I couldn’t get up to take 
my medicine.” 

“ I think you are too sick to travel,” I added. 

“ I have been sick a year, and the doctors say 
I can’t get over it. I want to get home.” 

“ Where do you live ? ” 

21 


322 


GOING WEST, OK 


“ In Michigan, twenty miles from Detroit,” 
he groaned. “You may give me another dose 
of that medicine ; I feel it again.” 

I complied with his request, and in a little 
while he was better again. By his watch, that 
hung on the bureau, I saw that it was nine 
o’clock. On his valise was the name of “Amos 
Brickland.” 

“ Why didn’t you take your medicine before, 
if it does you so much good, Mr. Brickland ? ” 
I asked, using the name on the valise. 

“ I don’t like to take it unless I’m obliged to, 
for the stuff has a bad effect on me afterwards,” 
he replied. “ It always helps me right off ; but 
sometimes it makes me almost crazy. I put it 
off too long this time.” 

We talked for an hour. He told me all about 
his sickness and his business. He was a man 
of forty, and had a farm ; but he had been unfor- 
tunate in some speculation, and had been obliged 
to mortgage his property. He had been to the 

east to see his friends and obtain relief, but 
/ 

without success. He was going home to die ; 
and he wept as he added that he did not know 
what would become of his family after he was 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


323 


gone. This confidence induced me to tell my 
own story in full. 

“ Come with me. I want some one to work 
on the farm. I will pay your fare,” said he. 

The result of this interview was that we ex- 
changed hats, and I put on his shawl, when 
the porter called him at midnight. In this guise 
I left the house without being challenged by 
any one, for the reason that a different set of 
men were on duty in the hotel. We took a 
sleeping-car ; and when I awoke the next morn- 
ing I realized that I was actually going west. 


324 


GOING WEST, OB 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

GOING WEST. 

“ How do you feel this morning, Mr. Brick- 
land ? ” I asked, when I saw that he was 
awake. 

“ Very badly,” he replied. “ I have passed a 
terrible night. ,That medicine made me feel 
horribly. It affects my head.” 

While he was telling me about it, the train 
stopped at Syracuse. He knew that I had eaten 
nothing for twenty-four hours, and he gave me 
a dollar to pay for my breakfast. The proprie- 
tor of the restaurant did not make anything out 
of me, for I ate my dollar’s worth, and felt like 
a new man. 

When the train started again, Mr. Brickland 
was suffering intensely with what he called “ the 
strange feelings in his head.” We arrived at 
Buffalo about one, and he declared that he could 


THE PERILS OP A POOR BOY. 


325 


go no farther that day. He had a relative in 
the city, to whose house we went. The invalid 
immediately became much worse ; and it was 
three weeks before he was able to leave his 
chamber. I assisted in taking care of him, and 
worked part of the time with Mr. Brickland’s 
relative, who was a carpenter. I am sure that 
I earned my board. The invalid’s wife was sent 
for; and when she' arrived I had nothing more 
to do in the sick-room. 

The carpenter was so well pleased with my 
work, that he offered to give me three dollars a 
week, besides my board, to learn the trade. T 
thought I could do better in the great west, and 
I had agreed to work for Mr. Brickland. 

One day, as I was walking along the hank of 
the canal, on my way home from work, I was 
not a little surprised to see a sail-boat, drawn 
by a very small specimen of a horse. I was 
surprised, because I promptly recognized in her 
the Seabird. Her mast had been taken out and 
lashed to the deck, while a short pole was in- 
serted in the mast-hole, to which the tow-line 
was attached. A boy of fourteen was driving 
the horse, and Elbe was steering the boat. 


326 


GOING WEST, OR 


“ Halloo, Ellie ! ” I shouted, when I was 
abreast of the Seabird. 

He looked at me, but did not seem to know 
me. I wore a palmleaf hat, a pair of overalls, 
and a thin sack, which doubtless changed my 
appearance very much. 

“ Who are you ? ” demanded he, apparently 
offended at my famiharity. 

“ Don’t you know me, Ellie ? ” I replied, tak- 
ing off my hat. 

“Is it Alick ? ” he asked. 

“ Yes, of course it is.” 

He called to his driver to stop the horse, and 
ran the boat up to the tow-path, so that I could 
jump on board. 

“How are you, Ellie?” I cried, seizing him 
by the hand. “ I no more expected to see you 
out here than I expected to see the Emperor of 
China.” 

“ You knew I was coming through the canal 
to Buffalo,” he replied. 

“ I had my doubts about your patience holding 
out long enough for you to get through.” • 

“Here. I am, any how.” 

“ I’m glad to see you, Ellie. You had lots 
of pluck to get through.” 



Halloo, Ellie!” I shouted. Page 326. 




THE PERH^S OF A POOR BOY. 327 

“ Of course I had. I intended to come 
through, and I’ve done it. I wrote every day 
to my father, and have had several letters from 
him. He kept hinting in them that I had bet- 
ter come home ; but I wrote him that I didn’t 
intend to back out.” 

“ Don’t you write him that you have seen 
me — will you, Ellie ? ” I continued, almost re- 
gretting that I had made myself known. 

“ He was real sorry that he told anybody in 
Newburgh about you ; but he didn’t know who 
you were then. If I should write to him about 
you, he wouldn’t say a word to any one.” 

“ I don’t know whether any one chased me 
or not, but I haven’t seen or heard a thing 
from Mr. Buckminster since I left you that 
morning at the hotel.” 

“ You fooled them nicely, Alick,” laughed 
Ellie. “How did you do it?” 

Before I began my story, he started up the 
horse, and when I had finished it, the Seabird 
had reached Buffalo Harbor. The horse was 
then sent to a stable, and I seated myself in 
the standing-room with Ellie. 

“ Mr. Buckminster called in the police, and 


328 


GOING WEST, OR 


searched the city of Albany all over for you,” 
said he. “ They looked for you all that day 
and all the next day. But Captain Boomsby 
had to go back to New York that night ; and 
he was the ugliest man I ever saw when he 
left the hotel. He declared that Mr. Buckmin- 
ster must know where you were, for you could 
not have got off without some help.” 

“ That’s just like him,” I added. “ He bites 
a friend as quick as a foe.” 

“ The captain said he would find you, if he 
had to look the whole world over after you.” 

I hope he will have a good time looking 
the world over,” I replied, laughing. “ Now, 
how did you get through the canal, Ellie?” 

“ O, I had a first-rate time, and 1 only wished 
you were with me. I had to steer ail the way 
myself.” 

“ What little horse is that you had ? ” 

“ My horse,” he replied, with dignity. 

“Where did you get him?” 

“ I bought him, of course. When I told Mr. 
Buckminster what I was going to do, the day 
after Captain Boomsby left, he helped me. He 
knew the canal people, and did all the business 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 329 

for me. I paid my bills, bought the pony, and 
hired the boy.” 

“ What did you give for the horse ? ” 

“ Thirty dollars,” laughed he. “ He isn’t 
good for much ; but we made from twenty to 
forty miles a day with him. The poor brute 
had been starved ; but I gave him all the grain 
he could eat, and that made him as lively as a 
grasshopper on the tow-path.” 

“ What did you do with him nights ? ” 

“ Sent him to the best stable I could find. 
We kept agoing as long as we pleased, and 

stopped at the large towns. I went to the best 

hotels myself, and let the boy shift for himself, 
for I paid him a dollar and a half a day, and 

he ‘ found himself.’ I’ll tell you what it is, 

Alick, I enjoyed it awfully ; and if you had 
only been with me, I should have been as 
happy as a king.” 

“ It wasn’t safe for me to show myself.” 

“I think that Boomsby was a villain.” 

“ He was all of that.” 

“ But now, Alick, you must go with me up 
this lake,” added Ellie. 

“ I don’t know as I can.” 


330 


GOING WEST, OK 


“You must ! ” exclaimed Ellie, with energy, 
“ I don’t know of anybody that can sail a boat 
as well as you can, Alick. You beat our boat- 
man all to pieces. At first, Mr. Buckminster 
wouldn’t believe that we came up the Hudson 
in tlie boat, when I told him about it, and said 
it blowed a gale all night.” 

“ It did blow hard ; but the Seabird is the 
best boat I ever sailed. She is as stiff as the 
Great West ; and I wouldn’t mind going out in 
any weather in her,” I replied, saying no more 
than I believed to be true. “ I should be very 
glad to go with you, Ellie ; and I will if I can.” 

“ You must go, Alick. I can’t get anybody 
that I am willing to trust out here ; and you 
know how well I understand about a boat ; I 
could get along first rate in the canal. You 
must go ! ” 

“ Must is a big word, Ellie. Mr. Brickland 
is going to start for Detroit in a few days, and 
perhaps he will be willing that I should go with 
you as far as that. I will talk with him about 
it to-night.” 

“ I will pay you, Alick, and be ever so much 
obliged to you besides. By the way, that re- 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


331 


minds me that I, owe you a dollar and a quar- 
ter, which you paid for your breakfast in A1-. 
bany,” said Ellie, tendering the money to me. 

I took it because I thought I had earned it 
by my night’s work. 

“ What are you going to do with your horse, 
Ellie ? ” I asked, as I put the money in my 
wallet. “Shall you take him with you?” 

“ In the boat ? I guess not. That pony is 
for sale,” laughed he. 

“ That reminds me that Mr. Blockley was 
talking about buying a horse, the other day. 
What do you ask for him ? ” 

“ Fifty dollars.” 

“You are in for a speculation, Ellie.” 

“ I think he is worth it.” 

“ I will speak to Mr. Blockley about the 
horse ; but I’m afraid he isn’t heavy enough ’ 
for him,” I added. 

“When shall I see you again, Alick?” 

“ To-morrow. Shall I come down here ? ” 

“ No ; I shall be at the American Hotel.” 

We parted, and I walked towards Mr. Block- 
ley’s house. I confess that I was delighted 
with the idea of sailing the Seabird the whole 


332 


GOING WEST, OR 


length of Lake Erie ; and after supper I spoke 
with Mr. Brickland about the plan. As his 
wife was with him he did not object, but he 
did not think it was safe to make such a voyage 

'‘on the lake in a small boat. I answered 

that the Seabird was a life-boat, and I did not 
think there was any particular danger. 

The next day Mr. Blockley wished me to help 
him in the forenoon, and I did so. After din- 
ner we went to see the pony. He was rather 

small, but so was the price. I found that Ellis 
Dykeman was quite sharp at a trade ; but he 
finally sold the horse for forty dollars, making 
ten dollars profit, besides the use of the animal 
for four weeks. The bargain was closed, the 
money paid, and the horse delivered. The 
carpenter led him away, leaving Ellis and me 
at the stable. 

“ I will go with you as far as Detroit, EUie,” 
I said. 

“You must go farther than that ; you must 
go to Chicago,” he replied. “ I will give you 
a dollar a day, and pay all your expenses 
besides.” 

“ I can’t go any farther than Detroit, for Mr. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


333 


Brickland wants me to go to work on his 
farm.” 

“ Bother his farm.” 

“ He and his wife have been very kind to 
me ; and I agreed to work on the farm this 
summer. I can no more back out than you 
can.” 

“We will see about the rest of the way 
after we get to Michigan,” replied he. “Now 
come to the hotel with me, and I will show 
you the charts of the lakes I have bought.” 

I went with him and looked over his charts, 
of which he had three. The chart was not 
a new institution to me, for I had often exam- 
ined them, on board of the Great West, while 
cleaning up the cabin. I was sure I could 
find my way by them ; but I told my skipper 
that he must have a compass in a binnacle, a 
pair of dividers, and a parallel rule, the use of 
which I had learned by seeing Captain Boomsby 
operate with them when I was cabin boy. He 
promised to procure everything I desired, and 
then we made out a list of provisions and stores 
for the voyage. 

In the course of the afternoon we purchased 


334 


GOING WEST, OR 


everything we needed for the trip, including a 
three-day’s supply of cooked provisions, and 
carefully stowed them away on board. Before 
night we had stepped the mast and rigged the 
boat. 

“ I shall only dread the nights,” said Ellie, 
when we had finished our work. 

“We can make a port at night', if you wish, 
but I shall feel as much at home at night in 
the boat as in the day. If we have a breeze, 
we shall not be out more than two nights, per- 
haps only one, if we start early in the morn- 
ing,” I replied. 

It was agreed that we should sleep on board, 
and sail at daylight in the morning. I went 
up to Mr. Blockley’s, bade my friends good by, 
and was in the boat by nine o’clock. 


THE PERILS OP A POOR BOY. 


335 


CHAPTER XXX. 

THE LAST PERIL IN GOING WEST. 

E LLIE was on board when I reached the 
boat, and had lighted the lantern in the 
cabin. He had unrolled the chart of Lake 
Erie, and spread it out on the carpeted floor. 
I studied this chart for an hour, using the 
dividers to get the distances from the scale, and 
the parallel rule to obtain the courses. As fast 
as I obtained them, Elbe wrote them down. I 
dictated to him the names and descriptions of 
the points we were to make, and the bearings 
and distances of the light-houses, so that, if 
no mistake had been made, I could sail the boat 
to Detroit without looking at the chart again.- 
“ What time is it, Ellie ? ” I asked, when we 
had finished the work. 

“ Five minutes of ten,” he replied, looking at 
his watch. 

“Not so late as I thought it was,” I added. 
“ Which way is the wind.” 


336 


GOING WEST, OK 


“ I’m sure I don’t know. I don’t keep the 
run of the wind?” 

“ You should if you are going to be a sailor, 
Ellie,” I added. 

“ Do you know ? ” 

“ I do ; I can’t help keeping the run of the 
wind. It is a little east of north ; and it 
makes me feel bad.” 

“The wind makes you feel bad?” 

“No; it makes me feel bad to' lie here while 
the wind is east of north.” 

“ Why so ? ” 

“ Because it is fair for our first course ; and 
it is blowing quite fresh, too — a seven-knot 
breeze for this boat.” 

“You don’t want to sail in the night — do 
you ? ” demanded Ellie. 

“ I had just as lief sail in the night as the 
day, if the weather is clear. In a word, Ellie, 
I don’t like to lose this breeze. It may be calm 
or we may have a head wind, to-morrow.” 

“But I don’t believe I can steer in tlxe 
night,” my shipmate objected. 

“ It will be a good chance for you to learn 
to steer by compass,” I suggested. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


337 


“ All right ; let us start, then. If you are 
satisfied, I ought to be.” 

We hoisted the mainsail, and cast off from 
the shore. Then I run up the jib, and took 
the wheel. The Seabird darted off at a satis- 
factory speed, though she did not yet feel the 
full force of the wind. But in a few minutes 
we were fairly out on the lake. I had lighted 
the two lamps inside of the binnacle, which 
contained the compass, and placed it in the 
standing-room, before we started. A couple of 
hand-screws secured it to the floor, so that the 
motion of the boat could not disturb it. 

“Now we are abreast of the light-house. 
What time is it, Elbe ? ” I asked, wishing to 
make this the point of departure. 

“ Just half past ten,” he replied. 

“ Write it down on your paper. You must 
keep a proper log, if you are going to know 
where you are.” 

He went to the cabin where the lantern was, 
and made the entry. I laid the course, south- 
by-west, by the compass ; and the Seabird went 
along as though she meant business. 

“ It blows, out here,” said Ellie, coming from 
the cabin. (22) 


338 


GOING WEST, OR 


“Just a nice breeze,” I replied. “If we can 
get such weather as this all the way, we shall be 
in Detroit inside of two days.” 

“ But it is rough.” 

“ There is a little chop sea ; but you mustn’t 
complain of this. I think it is splendid. Now, 
if you want to learn to steer by compass, you 
can’t have a better time to begin.” 

“I don’t believe I can do it,” said he, looking 
into the binnacle. “ I don’t know the first 
thing about it.” 

“ I didn’t when I began to learn ; but I have 
steered the Great West by night and by day ; 
and if I made any mistakes I got a crack over 
the head, which you Avon’t get. Now take the 
wheel, and try your hand.” 

I gave him the wheel and placed myself on 
the lee side, where I could see what he did, and 
check him if he made blunders. 

“ Sitting on the weather side of the wheel, 
where the helmsman ought always to be, you 
pull the tiller towards you for starboard, and 
push it from you for port,” 1 began. 

“ I know all about that,” said Ellie. “ I 
steered the boat three hundred and sixty-three 
miles through the canal. 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


839 


“ Very well ; but this isn’t a tow-line breeze. 
If you want to luff, port the helm ; and it will 
tend that way all the time ; and you have only 
to let the wheel off to go the other way.” 

“ I understand that.” 

“ The tiller moves in the direction opposite 
that you turn the wheel.” 

“ Of course it does.” 

“ Now look at the compass,” I continued. 

“ It keeps whirling to the right and left ;-it 
won’t hold still.” 

“Yes, it does ; it is the boat that don’t hold 
still. The needle always points to the north, and 
the disk or circle on which the points are marked, 
keeps still all the time. Our course is west-by- 
south. It is the next point south of west. Do 
you see it, Ellie ? ” ' 

“I see it — W. b. S.” 

“ Now, do you see that notch outside of the 
disk ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“You are to keep the point west-by-south on 
that notch all the time. That’s the whole thing 
in a nutshell. The notch is the boat, and it 
moves ; the point don’t move ; and you must 


340 


GOING WEST, OR 


bring the notch up to the point, and not the 
point up to the notch. When the notch gets on 
the port side of the point, port the helm — 
bring the wheel towards you.” 

I let go the wheel, and the strong weather- 
helm of the boat caused her to luff. As I sup- 
posed he would, he turned the Avheel the wrong 
way. I corrected him a dozen, if not twenty 
times before he got the hang of the movement. 
When he could do it, he became fascinated with 
his occupation. 

“ I like this first rate,” said he, with enthusi- 
asm. “ It is a good deal better than looking 
ahead all the time.” 

“ But you must do both ; that is, you must 
look all about you, every few minutes, to see that 
you don’t run into some other craft. 

“ Of course I shall do that. You may turn 
in now, Alick. I can do very well without 
you.” 

“Not yet, Ellie,” I replied. I wiU lie down 
on the seat, and by and by, if you get along 
well, 1 will turn in.” 

I stretched myself on the cushioned seat of 
the standing-room, and watched the stars for a 


THE PERH^S OF A POOR BOY. 


341 


time. I had done a hard day’s work, and was 
very tired; and before I knew it, I fell asleep. 

“ AUck ! ” shouted the skipper. 

I sprang to my feet, and asked what the mat- 
ter was. 

“ Land ahead, and we are running ashore.” 

“Keep her away a little — starboard the 
helm ! ” I replied, after glancing ahead. “ You 
are all right, EUie. I suppose the current 
towards the river set us in shore a little. That 
land is Point Abino and it sticks out about 
two miles into the lake. Run as close to it as 
you can.” 

“I thought something was the matter — that 
the compass had given out, and we were going 
the wrong way; for, while I kept her west-by- 
south, I couldn’t see any water ahead.” 

“ The sail shut it out from you. Now we are 
off the point. What time is it, EUie ? ” 

I took the helm, and he went to the cabin, 
where he could see his watch. 

“ Twenty minutes past twelve,” he said. 

“We have come eleven mUes ; that’s six miles 
an hour.” 

“Do we run over any more points?” 


342 


GOING WEST, OR 


“ No ; we don’t go within five miles of any 
land till ten o’clock to-morrow forenoon.” 

“ All right, then. I am going to keep the 
helm the rest of the night. It’s fun to steer by 
compass.” 

“ It will be rougher than it is here in an hour 
or two,” I added. 

“ I have got used to that, and I don’t think 
I shall mind it,” replied Ellie, with his gaze 
fixed on the eompass. 

I was tired enough to sleep, and I turned in. 
I slept like a log, and when I waked, the sun 
was shining brightly through the little glass 
window in the trunk of the cabin. I sprang to 
my feet ; but the boat was moving along very 
well, though she jumped and yawed a little 
more than when I turned in. Ellie was still at 
the x^elm. 

“ Why didn’t you call me, Ellie ? ” I asked. 

“ I didn’t want you.” 

I found him as contented as ever, only he wanted 
his breakfast, for it was seven o’clock. I had 
slept eight hours in all. We had a shallow box, 
lined with sheet iron, which I put on the for- 
ward deck, and, placing the furnace in it, lighted 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 


343 


a fire. I made a pot of coffee, and with this 
we breakfasted upon cold meat and bread and 
butter. Ellie soon began to gape fearfully, and 
finally consented to turn in. 

I found that my sailing directions had been 
correct, and at half past eight I had the end 
of Long Point to the southward of me. At 
half past eleven the Seabird was well up with 
the light-ship ; I jibed her, and went through 
New Channel, out into the broad lake again. 1 
was in doubt whether to run for Point aux Pins 
or Point Pelee ; the former course keeping the 
boat a little nearer the north shore, but the 
latter was the more direct. As the weather was 
fine, and the breeze steady, I decided to run for 
Point Pelee, distant one hundred and eighteen 
miles. The course was west south-west. The 
Seabird went along at the rate of six mk^os an 
hour, and it was the same thing all day. Ellie 
did not show himself till two o’clock in the 
afternoon ; and after dinner he had the wheel 
the rest of the day. I slept till dark, when my 
shipmate called me to get supper. 

While we were eating, we agreed that each 
of us should steer half the night, and I took 


344 


GOING WEST, OK 


the first watch. During the evening the wind 
hauled more to the eastward ; and when I called 
Ellie, at one o’clock, the Seabird was going 
nearly before it. It did not blow very hard, 
though it had freshened considerably ; and I 
turned in and slept as well as usual. 

“ Alick ! ” 

This was the cry that roused me, and I sprang 
up. The boat was jumping and yawing fearfully. 
I heard the wind whistle, and the water beating 
upon the deck above me and pouring into the 
standing-room. I rushed to the helm, where 
poor Ellie was scared half out of his senses ; and 
I could not blame him either. 

“ I called you twenty times, Alick,” moaned 
he. “We are going to the bottom, and I don’t 
know what to do.” 

“ Don’t be alarmed, my hearty,” I replied, as 
cheerfully as I could ; but it was up-hill work 
to be cheerful then. “ She won’t sink, what- 
ever happens to her.” 

. “ I’m wet to the skin, and I was afraid I 
should be washed out of her,” added my com- 
panion, in trembling tones. “You won’t catch 
me in a boat after this.” 


THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY. 345 

“ Don’t give it up yet, EUie. Here, take the 
helm again ! ” I called, shii,rply. 

“ I can’t take it ! I can’t manage her I ” he 
pleaded. 

‘‘ Keep her just as she is. Don’t be scared,” 
I added ; but I was frightened myself. 

I compelled him to take the wheel, while I 
stood at the main-sheet myself. I directed him 
to put the helm hard down, and I hauled in the 
sheet as he did so. In the trough of the sea 
the boat rolled herself half full of water. Secur- 
ing the sheet, I went forward and let go the 
halyards. With much difficulty, I got the main- 
sail down, and furled it. Taking the helm 
again, I let her come about, and ran her before 
the wind. I set Ellie to baling her out with a 
bucket, and he worked like a good fellow. But 
the jib was too much head-sail for her ; it car- 
ried her bow under, so that the water came in 
faster over the forward deck than Ellie could 
throw it out. I gave him the helm again, and 
put two reefs in the mainsail. Bringing her up 
to the wind again, I hoisted this sail, and furled 
the jib. Once more I got her before it ; but 
she was almost full of water, and if she had 


346 


GOING WEST, OR 


not been a life-boat, she would have gone down. 

I found that the reefed mainsail lifted her 
over the short savage seas, so that she took in 
but comparatively little water. Ellie could steer 
her now, and I baled her out. For an hour, I 
could take up a pailful at a time in the stand- 
ing-room ; and then I worked the pump, which 
discharged into the centre-board casing. All 
this time, the Seabird was jumping and rolling 
fearfully, but we succeeded 'in keeping most of 
the water outside of her. 

“I see a light ! ” exclaimed Ellie, “ Dead 
ahead.” 

It was a long way off, but I knew it was the 
light on the northern end of Point Pelee Is- 
land. It was as dark as Egypt, but the white 
caps and the frothing seas relieved the gloom. 
Looking to the north, I listened for sounds in 
that direction. I heard the roar of breakers. I 
saw the sheets of foam they caused, and kept a 
sharp lookout ahead. I was sure the light ahead 
could not be more than six miles distant, which 
assured me we had passed Point Pelee. Taking 
the helm, I braced her up, and headed her to 
the north. In half an hour more, to the amaze- 


THE PERH-S OF A POOR BOY. 


347 


ment of Ellie, who did not understand what I 
was doing, we were in smooth water, and I let 
go the anchor. 

“ I never was so frightened before,” said 
Ellie, when we had furled the mainsail. 

“ It was the roughest time I ever saw ; and 
if the Seabird had not been a lifeboat, she 
would surely have gone down,” I replied. 

We baled out the standing-room again. The 
water had not risen above the bulk head, under 
the cabin door, and we had a dry place to shel- 
ter us from the rain, which was now pouring 
down in torrents. We took off our wet gar- 
ments, and turned in. It was three o’clock in 
the morning when we came to anchor, and it 
was nine in the forenoon when we turned out. 
I found we were less than a hundred feet from 
the shore, under the lee of Point Pelee; and 
at least a dozen vessels were at anchor outside 
of us. 

The day was cloudy, but the gale had subsided. 
After breakfast we started again, with a stiff 
breeze. Elbe’s “ back was broken.” He per- 
sisted that he had had enough of boats, and 
never would sail in one again. At nine o’clock 


348 


GOING WICST, OK 


in the evening we reached Detroit, and hauled 
in at a wharf. We went to the Russell House, 
where Ellie was confounded by meeting his 
father in the office. Mr. Dykeman had become 
very nervous about his son, after reading his 
last letter from Buffalo, and had hastened to 
Detroit to intercept him. Ellie did not need 
any intercepting. He was ready to go home at 
once with his father. What to do with the boat 
was the next question, and it was discussed for 
some time ; but it was finally settled by hand- 
ing the Seabird over to me, as a gift. Though 
the boat cost over five hundred dollars on the 
Hudson, 1 was not clear that she would not be 
an elephant to me, for a boat is not a good 
thing to have, unless one lives near the water. 
However, I was very grateful, for if I could 
not use her, I could sell her. Ellie had already 
paid me for two days’ services, which I offered 
to return to him ; but he refused to take it ; 
and Mr. Dykeman said he did not know what 
would have become of his son if I had not been 
with him. 

In the morning, I parted with the father and 
son, but Ellie promised to write me as soon as 


THE PERILS. OF A POOR BOY. 


349 


he reached home. The steamer which ar- 
rived in the middle of the day, brought Mr. 
Brickland and his wife. The sick man was quite 
comfortable, and with no little interest and anx- 
iety I asked him where his farm was, in order 
to determine whether or not I could keep- the 
Seabird. I was delighted to learn that he lived 
on a river, only a few miles from Lake St. 
Clair. I carried my charts up to the hotel, and 
he showed me just where his farm was located. 
Then it was agreed that I should sail him and 
his wife to their home in the boat, and we 
arrived in safety before sundown. 

I had found my new home. I was in the 
Great West. And here this story properly comes 
to an end, for all I intended to do in it was to 
describe my going west, and explain the Perils 
of a Poor Boy which induced me to go there. 
As soon as I was settled in my new home, I 
wrote to Ellis Dykeman, and in reply received 
a letter full of news. He did not want another 
boat ; he had come to the conclusion that boat- 
ing was not his vocation ; and he did not wish 
to follow it, even if he could steer by compass 
all the time. He had been to see Mr. Buck- 


350 


GOING WEST, OR 


minster, and had a long talk with him about 
me, though he would not tell him where I was. 
My good friend in Newburgh had made diligent 
search for me, and had even been to Glossen- 
bury to see Captain Boomsby about me. He 
found that my tyrant had been deprived of his 
command of the Great West, the other owners 
buying his share. Barnes had been made cap- 
tain of her ; and this information afforded me 
the most intense satisfaction. Captain Boomsby, 
disgusted with the conduct of the owners of the 
Great West, was going to seek the other Great 
West, whether he could sell his place or not. 
Mr. Buckminster had seen him, but the inter- 
view was very unsatisfactory, for the captain still 
insisted that my friend had got me out of the 
way in order to cheat him out of the value of 
my time. 

I was entirely willing my tyrant should make 
a home and a fortune in the Great West, if he 
did not settle near me. As it was, I thanked 
God that I had escaped some of the Perils of a 
Poor Boy, by Going Weist. 




' ‘Je'33 





















